


what a wonderful world

by bleakmidwinter



Category: Rope (1948)
Genre: Childhood Sexual Abuse, Falling In Love, Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Philosophy, Prep School, School, Sexual Content, Young Love, character study of their whole life together, tags suck im sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2019-11-29 04:50:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 57,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18218435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleakmidwinter/pseuds/bleakmidwinter
Summary: this story starts from the first day of prep school where brandon and phillip first met, up until the day they decide to kill david kentley as an in depth view of the development of their relationship and psyches





	1. 1937/1938

**Author's Note:**

> title from louis armstrong's song "what a wonderful world"

**Fall of 1937**

 

Leaves of various colors crunch softly underneath Phillip's all too heavy boots as he approaches the Somerville School for Boys in all it's over-glorified  _ glory _ . 

 

He pauses when he's a yard or so away from the entrance, contemplating turning on his heel and returning to the backseat of his mother's Cadillac. As if she and her new suitor weren't already halfway to the Bahamas in a million dollar private jet. He attempts to rid himself of the memory of his mother’s relieved face as she dropped him off. She won't see him again until Christmas, and not an ounce of regret towards his enrollment here played on her delicate features. 

 

Phillip moves slowly forward, blending in with the crowds .

 

He stares impassively in the direction of confused students hugging their parents goodbye at the entrance, nausea spinning circles in his gut. He smiles at a girl who blushes at him, a sister of a future alumni perhaps, though her pink cheeks and white toothy grin somehow only adds to the nausea. He doesn’t know why. Is he to remain with butterflies warring with each other in his stomach the rest of the year rather than speak to another human being? Most likely.

 

Phillip Morgan can blend in. He can be a normal student. He can enjoy prep school, maybe drink too much early on and forget he has parents like the rest of them. He hopes they're not all prissy millionaire suck-ups. He's been around too many of those all his life. Suitor after suitor with their fanciful, bratty, children. Sometimes his mother would care more for them than him depending on the day. He may be young, yes, but he'd like to think of this as an early college experience. 

 

Wandering until he finds a large group of children clustered together, he squeezes past the kids into the entrance of the Orientation building. No, he's not planning on attending orientation. He'd rather drown than interact with group leaders and other students who would waste two hours touring the campus and playing games. And with his red sweaty face, lugging two suitcases behind him, they'll never miss him.

 

There's no sign-in sheet in the Orientation building; it's just for kids and their parents to spend a few last moments together before the parents drop their thousands of dollars of investments off only so those investments can drink and smoke their lungs and brains to mindless gunk.

 

At least Phillip's mother has been honest about wanting to get rid of him for a couple years now. Most of the parents he sees around the campus now, with eyes goggling towards their small children, are waiting to go release ten or more long years of sexual tension out on their luxury bed, and not think twice about their boys for weeks. Phillip thinks about his mother. He'll barely see her now. After this is college, and then life. He's not sure how he feels about it. He's not sure what he even wants to do. He’s never had a father he could take over a business from. His mother’s wealth is purely hereditary, and so shall his wealth be one day. 

 

His whole life has been spent mostly in his room or at the public library, or on his keyboard in the living room on very special occasions when mother and her suitors are out for the weekend. The piano makes him feel like he’s in another world, and though it’s not his immediate passion, it’s the closest thing he has to one. 

 

Phillip is fourteen, and he thinks, perhaps he'll just try to have fun for once in his life. Try not to think too much about the future. Try not to worry about every little detail. 

 

He wonders if they have a piano class.

 

The reason he pushed his way into the Orientation building, double suitcases and all, is so he can snoop through the housing arrangements. He's so early to the housing table that nobody is managing it, so he can take a sneak peak at who is housing with him and what his room number is. Nothing too criminal. Nothing too innocent, either.

 

David Kentley. Sector B, Room c667.

 

Kentley sounds a rather normal surname. Still, the thought of talking to someone day after day begins to add fuel to the fiery panic threatening to combust inside of him, even if he did know prior to coming that he  _ must _ be housed with a roommate.

 

Sneaking another quick glance around and seeing everyone still crowding the Orientation desk, he digs through the keys that are alphabetically ordered on the table. Mamry, Milden,  _ Morgan _ . He snatches it and signs it out on the empty sheet. They'll never miss him. 

 

A few wrong turns later, he's outside in front of Sector B.

 

It's a large white building that looks like it's just been painted; the shutters are black to contrast it. Phillip grimaces. He's never liked the color white. Too pristine. White seldom looks lovely, but when it's a good, white new set of ivories waiting to be played, that's when Phillip can get behind it. The colors of a classic piano, he tells himself. That's his dorm. Alone, he hauls his suitcases inside, taking one more glance at his key. 

 

He realizes the C on his key means the third floor, and after a spew of curses and grunting he somehow hauls his two suitcases up the first flight of stairs. He collapses to the floor before the next flight, his sensitive hands red and tingling. Through his heavy breathing, he doesn't notice the boy sitting on the steps just above him. 

 

The boy barely takes notice to him as well until Phillip spots him after a few minutes of catching his breath. Ignoring the long legs splayed out almost indecently with his feet against the wall, he says “Hey!”

 

The boy nearly drops his cigarette when Phillip shouts and he glares at him coldly. “Yes?”

 

“Could you help me with one of these? My hands are killing me,” Phillip asks, blinking in a pleading, watery eyed stare. As told by a previous suitor of his mother's, he resembles a puppy dog who people cannot say no to. He does it unconsciously, it's how he used to beg for things when he was younger and  _ much _ cuter. 

 

The world can't fault him for using easy tricks learned in his upbringing.

 

To Phillip's surprise, the stranger is definitively rude to him. “No.”

 

“Why?!” Phillip blurts out, baffled. He never blurts, he barely even  _ challenges _ . He must sound privileged, like he’d never been said “No” to in his life; it would be true. The boy shrugs, tapping cigarette ash to the floor of the stairs.

 

“I snuck in here  _ not _ to be bothered.” A smirk starts to play on his lips as if he expects Phillip to keep arguing with him. The nerve. 

 

“Suit yourself.” With all the strength he can muster, he picks both suitcases up and squeezes by the boy who refuses to move his stretched out legs. As Phillip passes him, he notices the blue pinstripe pants connected to black suspenders and wonders how much his outfit cost, and also tries to block out the thought that they fit his lean frame perfectly from head to toe.

 

Phillip hears a scoff from the steps below when he reaches the top, and he doesn't turn around to scowl as alluring the temptation is. He merely rolls the suitcases over to his new room. 

 

The room is spacious for only two beds, and for this kind of money, it better be. Phillip takes the right side of the room, leisurely unpacking and taking a few moments to stare out the large window above the bed he's going to sleep in for months until winter break. It somehow feels right, like his independence has been waiting for him all this time. 

 

* * *

 

Phillip stays in his room the rest of the day before meeting David Kentley. David is a well kept boy, ashy blonde and seemingly friendly. He only has one suitcase, and he smiles widely when he notices Phillip lying down on his bed.

 

“You must be Phillip Morgan,” he says and raises a hand out expecting Phillip to haul himself upwards to shake it. He does with as minimal irritation as possible. David's hands are sweaty.

 

“Yes. David Kentley?” 

 

David nods and starts unpacking his things on his side. He asks if Phillip got here early and Phillip doesn't tell him he'd skipped orientation and stayed in their room all morning, reveling in the silence. He merely nods.

 

After nearly an hour of unpacking, David asks if he wants to go eat with him and Phillip tells him he'd rather stay inside and rest, he's not feeling well. It's a lie, but just as Phillip expected, the company of others isn't exactly treating him well. He'd rather be alone. He doesn't want to be forced to initiate conversations or endure awkward silences between two very different kinds of people. And he is  _ always _ the different kind of person, to everyone.

 

David leaves without a word, and Phillip is cast into perfect, quiet stillness. He closes his eyes and drifts to sleep.

 

* * *

 

The night of his moving in went well for the most part. It was strange not waking up in the middle of a deep sleep to hear his mother with another man or woken up in the morning by screaming and slamming doors. 

 

Phillip wakes up two hours early to grab breakfast and to give himself time to find his first classroom. He'd never excelled at directions in an unfamiliar space, and yet somehow he finds his classroom fairly easily. He’s not used to getting clear directions, he was half expecting the campus map he was mailed to be outdated or just plain wrong, and an hour early to class, he’s standing in front of the classroom door, unsure of how to proceed. 

 

He fondles the loose straps of his bookbag.

 

Taking a thirty minute walk around to see all the classrooms is an option, but that might include talking to someone which he wants to avoid at all costs. If he goes into class early he can pick the seat in the back row, the farthest right, so he can stare out the window and not pay attention to class. He nods to himself, prepping up in case there is already someone inside.

 

When he enters, he thinks no one is there at first, too distracted by the warm glow of autumn shining through over the desks casting the room into a bright natural lighting. Phillip curses himself for never calling himself a morning person. 

 

Morning should be everything to him. No one is awake, and the sky is filled with a sickly beautiful mixture of hues. 

 

Phillip takes a deep breath and moves through the desks to the back, almost tripping over himself when he sees someone is already sitting in the seat he wanted. Not even sitting, this boy is laying with his head on his arms, sleeping. Out of thirty seats, this kid picks the one seat Phillip always chooses. He could choose to hold a grudge on whoever it is, or he can move on and choose a different seat. 

 

Holding a grudge is usually how Phillip fares, anyhow.

 

He stands there for a good minute or two, not even sure what to do. He considers leaving the classroom and coming back thirty seconds before the bell. The universe seems to decide for him.

 

“Are you just going to keep standing there like a loon, or are you going to sit down?” The boy’s voice is muffled into his uniform sleeve. Phillip jumps and opens his mouth; no words come out. The boy lifts his head up, eyes red and tired with exhaustion. It’s the boy from earlier, the rude boy from the stairs that had been terribly bothersome and rather unhelpful  . 

 

He's got some nerve. 

 

“You,” he whispers. He doesn’t mean to come off as feeble. It just sort of happens. 

 

“Name’s Shaw actually, Brandon Shaw that is.” Brandon cracks his neck and then his fingers, stretching his back muscles as well. He’s like a mangy cat who had just woken up.

 

“I don't care what your name is,” Phillip finally says, and decides to sit in the seat right in front of Brandon. He can feel his eyes on the back of his neck.

 

“You're early,” Brandon finally says.

 

“You're one to talk,” Phillip snaps back just as quick.

 

“I wanted to get the best seat,” Brandon admits. Phillip nearly laughs out loud. Bastard. It's  _ his _ seat, it's always been his seat. Everyday of middle school. He turns around to say something further, but Brandon is back to resting his head on his arms. 

 

Phillip's words are caught in his throat at the visual of the sunlight cast over Brandon's, long, soft, features. He feels a jump in his heartbeat, something he hasn't felt before. He swerves back to stare at the wall ahead of him. 

 

Strange. 

 

He thought the hour would be long but it feels as if only a few minutes have passed when kids start filing in, and the teacher takes her place at the head of the classroom. Phillip is staring blankly at the wall still, pulse racing, unable to stop thinking about the feeling in his chest. 

 

David walks in and sits next to Brandon and another boy, blonder than David, sits in front of him, next to Phillip. “Hey, Philly,” David says, “this is my buddy, Kenneth.”

 

“Ken, if you like,” Kenneth adds quietly. He's a very handsome young man, expression brighter and more optimistic than David's. Phillip almost feels self conscious. They both carry themselves so well. He nods to Kenneth anyways and awkwardly shakes his hand. 

 

“Who's the sleepy head?” David asks, impulsively kicking the desk Brandon is sleeping in, jostling him awake in an instant. Phillip feels a tightening in his chest when Brandon makes eye contact with David, gaze icy. Phillip's stomach flips.

 

Surprisingly, Brandon is docile, charming even. “Can I help you?”

 

“Class is about to start, pal,” David says with a shit eating grin. Phillip takes a deep breath and tries his best to zone out their conversation.

 

The rest of class is a blur. Phillip finds himself actually trying to focus on the lesson to forget the silhouette of Brandon's face in the sunlight. Many words to describe the silhouette are attempting to claw their way into his conscious brain from his subconscious brain and he's doing everything in his power to keep the door between them closed. Focus. Blackboard. Chalk. 

 

_ Brandon. _ It’s a nice name. 

 

The bell rings and he isn't even sure what class he just attended. Perhaps English? Maybe Math. On instinct, he turns to glance behind him. Brandon is gone. He swerves around trying to find him. 

 

Brandon is tossing an apple up in the air at the entrance of the class, taking a bite when it lands in his hand. He smiles at the teacher on his way out, amiable without effort. 

 

The floodgates in Phillip's brain shift into gear and they open, allowing a catastrophic flood of unwanted information.

 

Beautiful. Elegant. Charming. Gorgeous. Attractive. Pretty. Desirable. Handsome.  _ Beautiful _ .

 

Phillip feels lightheaded.  _ Sick _ . He drops his notebook and struggles to pick up the scattered papers. His hands are shaking.

 

Following those damnable  _ words _ swimming around in his head, he feels the looming judgement and resentment of family members like ice in his blood. His friends and peers crush those words he wants to absorb with sledgehammers, not allowing him to revel in them. 

 

“Phillip?” The Professor asks. Her voice cuts through his trance and he shoves the rest of the loose papers in his book bag. “Are you okay? You look rather pale.”

 

“I'm fine!” He squeaks. He throws his book bag over his shoulder, noticing he's the only one left in the room. “I'll go now. Apologies, Ma'am.” 

 

Phillip rushes out the door, pale face quickly reddening with embarrassment. He fastens his pace down the hall, and spots Brandon at the end of it, still walking slowly with a half eaten apple in hand. He takes a left, and disappears from view.

 

Curiosity takes over, and Phillip can’t help but follow him, like a stray dog. He slows down as he turns into the hall where Brandon vanished. This is the faculty hall, for staff offices as far as Phillip can tell. Phillip can't imagine Brandon having a meeting with someone the first day of prep. Most of the offices seem empty anyhow, and all their doors are open for the most part. 

 

Phillip stops when he sees small movements from Brandon in an empty office labeled “Mrs. Fawly,” their English teacher. They just had a class with her; Phillip doesn't understand why he's in there. He holds back a gasp when he sees Brandon start opening drawers and dig through them casually. Not a single expression of remorse shows on his face as he slams the drawers back in, and opens a new one. Phillip stands unnoticed, gawking. He's frozen in shock. Brandon finally seems to find what he's looking for and pockets it, some type of gold watch. 

 

When Brandon turns and sees Phillip, he tenses up so sharply Phillip is worried he's turned to stone. They stare at each other, not blinking, until Phillip says “Sorry,” for some reason and starts shuffling backwards down the hall, retracing his steps. If he forgets this ever happened and forgets the classroom incident ever happened, he can sleep peacefully at night, he just needs to—

 

“Hey!” Brandon shout-whispers and grabs Phillip by the shoulders unexpectedly, spinning him around to face him. He’s strong,  _ and _ tall. Phillip might pass out. His touch is somehow searing even through the fabric of Phillip’s uniform. “What did you just see?” He asks urgently. 

 

“Nothing, I promise,” Phillip whispers and Brandon’s grip tightens.

 

“I can sniff out a lie from a mile away.”

 

“You stole Ms. Fawly's gold watch.”

 

“That's right,” Brandon says calmly though he’s still stuttering. His grip begins to loosen, hands slowly trailing down Phillip’s arm before he crosses them over his own chest in thought. “What'd you think?”

 

Phillip blinks up at him. Brandon Shaw, a student he just met, is asking for his validation on a felony? Phillip could easily get him expelled, and Brandon is just  _ standing _ here asking him his opinion on his petty crime.

 

Well, Phillip’s never been one to tattle.

 

“You need some work,” Phillip responds. Brandon looks genuinely disappointed. He takes a steady breath and adds, “I caught you, after all. ”

 

“Oh, well, I had everything calculated out you see, I wasn't expecting anyone to follow me. Why…” Brandon slinks his hands into his pockets, fondling the watch in his right hand, ruminating over various scenarios in his head. “Why  _ did _ you follow me, anyway?” 

 

Oh dear. Phillip can't tell the truth.  _ I was burdened by the fact I thought you were rather handsome in the sunlight for a millisecond, apologies for stalking you. _ That would certainly go over well, and he’d be reported to the administration for sodomitical thoughts. Phillip wonders if that is even a crime. 

 

He tilts his chin up. He’ll spout some horseshit. He gained that skill from his mother.

 

“Brandon Shaw, I do no wish to create any friendships or relationships of any kind whether they be positive or negative during my stay here, so I believe I'm going to cut this conversation short. Don't worry about me ratting you out, it wouldn't be worth my time, or be to my benefit.” Phillip turns just as he sees Brandon's mouth fall open in astonishment. He can feel Brandon’s gaze burning into his back as he rushes down the hall and tries to find the briefest path back to his dorm so he can indulge in his break before his next class.

 

He thanks the heavens David is out with friends, or somewhere else at least, because the second he gets back to his room, he screams into his mattress, sheets curling into his fists.

 

The issue was, Brandon Shaw wasn't any less handsome in the dim even lighting of the faculty corridor than he was in the sunlight of a warm autumn day.

 

* * *

 

Next day of classes are excruciating. 

 

Phillip walks into English five minutes early hoping the seat in front of Brandon would be taken. Unfortunately it's the only seat open. Brandon is more than receptive of his presence now, and Phillip think's if he were a dog his tail would be wagging, despite his facial expression which reads “trying to keep cool” to Phillip, if he’s being honest. 

 

Phillip takes a shaky breath and heads over, saying good morning to David and Kenneth and pointedly ignoring Brandon. He doesn't need eyes in the back of his head to know Brandon is focused on him the entire lecture. 

 

Halfway through class, Phillip feels something scratch at his neck. He reaches back with a hand to find Brandon poking him with a note. Begrudgingly, he takes it, and opens it cautiously. 

 

_ Have lunch with me after second period. _

 

Phillip swallows and hesitantly crumples it up, leaving it in the corner of his desk. He won't. He doesn't want to. He'd rather do anything else. He'd rather not eat than eat with Brandon. Brandon as a human being includes two very awful things: potential friendship and amateur troublemaking. The prep school experience Phillip desires is silence and the occasional swig of rum at this point. No friendship. No possibility of expulsion.

 

Phillip is the first out the door when the bell rings. 

 

He locks himself in his room during lunch time, staring bug-eyed at the wood door, loose on its hinges. There isn't even a knock, and he doesn't see Brandon on his way to his evening classes. 

 

Though he doesn't owe Brandon anything, he feels a pit in his stomach, something resembling guilt. And perhaps a slight twinge of regret.

 

The next day, Phillip expects to walk into English and see a sad, or disappointed Brandon giving him puppy dog eyes but he sees no one in the seat he normally sits in. Not even a pencil.

 

Phillip can barely pay attention in class when Brandon doesn't even walk in late. David leans over and whispers when the lecture on 19th century fiction begins, “What's got your knickers twisted, Philly?”

 

Phillip resists the urge to roll his eyes and whispers back sharply. “It’s nothing.”

 

David sits back in his seat with an indifferent shrug. Kenneth doesn't notice the exchange, intently focused on whatever Ms. Fawly is writing on the chalkboard.

 

Phillip is surprised she hasn't discovered her watch is missing yet. Perhaps she barely uses it. He wonders then where Brandon could have gone off to and how to find him.

 

No. He mustn't bother.

 

Still, he finds himself absentmindedly wandering the halls after class, thinking up every possible place Brandon could be. His dorm. Food hall. Perhaps the Nurse. Phillip strangely hopes that Brandon hasn't fallen ill, and that he's safe. He tries to shake off the feeling. 

 

He suffers through another couple arduous lectures before going to lunch. David gets called to the office at the end of Biology, something about room assignment. Phillip would have cared to listen to the full reason if he wasn't so deep in thought. He normally sits with David and Kenneth after Biology when they all eat, but he decides to grab his lunch to go, and run back to his dormitory

 

Brandon has been in the halls of Phillip’s dorm before. He has to be in one of the rooms near his. He's not sure what he expects with all the doors closed and locked for the most part, but he takes long strides down the hall of his floor anyway. 

 

There's only one door in the hall ajar, and Olly from Bio and Theater is sitting on his bed crying about something, tissue covering his nose. Phillip lingers for a mere moment out of curiosity before moving onward indifferently. 

 

Eventually accepting defeat, Phillip takes in a shaky breath before fumbling with his keys and entering his own room. He sees David in the corner of his eye standing hunched over his bed, fixing the sheets at their edges.

 

“What'd the office call you down for?” Phillip mutters to start a conversation. Anything to keep his mind off Brandon. He doesn't look at him while he starts to strip his jacket and shirt off in front of his closet. It's too hot out for his uniform.

 

“Didn't get called down,” David responds in a voice that is entirely Not-David. Phillip drops his hands from his half unbuttoned shirt and swerves around to see it's Brandon with a cigarette hanging from his lips.

 

Phillip drops his jacket and takes a step back. “How, um, how did you get in here?” He shoves the urge to cover himself up down. They’re both boys, there should be no reason to be self conscious over the state of his undress.

 

Brandon blows smoke from his mouth elegantly. “Don't look so spooked. I have a key.”

 

“You,” Phillip stammers, “What?!”

 

“I was asking administration for a different room assignment this morning, that's why I was absent. Surely, you noticed.”

 

Phillip did notice. Of course he noticed. How could he not? He spent half his day thinking about it. If not more than half.

 

“Yes,” he responds simply. “What about David? I quite liked his company. Don't I have a say in the matter?” 

 

Brandon ignores the latter part of Phillip's statement. “You enjoyed his company?  _ David? _ ”

 

Phillip swallows and can't seem to formulate a reply. No he didn’t enjoy David’s company. In fact, he rather hated David’s company when David did decide to show his face in their room.

 

He starts to nervously  button up his shirt again, when Brandon strolls over so close he feels his heart stop. It actually does stop momentarily when Brandon begins unbuttoning the shirt to the very bottom again, and slaps him on the shoulder when he's finished.

 

“I'm not here to make you feel uncomfortable, Phillip. Dress how you started when you thought I was David.” Brandon's back on the other side of the room again.

 

_ But you're different than David _ , Phillip wants to say, but he's unsure what that would even imply. Brandon unbuttoning his shirt for him stirred something in his gut he can’t precisely pinpoint. It unsettles his nerves, and he’s covered in goosebumps. 

 

He follows Brandon's orders silently, taking out an undershirt he can feel cooler in. Brandon takes another drag of his cigarette. “I didn't like my roommate and they asked me if I had a preference to whom I'd enjoy bunking with. I simply said Phillip Morgan seems like a proper fellow.” 

 

“I don't know what in the world would give you that assumption from a boy who turned you down for lunch.” Phillip tears his eyes away from Brandon. He opens his top drawer and starts to fold things he'd neglected to fold when he got here yesterday. 

 

He can feel Brandon's eyes on him 

 

“I'm sure you had good reason.”

 

Trying to ignore the pang of guilt, Phillip takes a deep breath. “If you consider the fact I didn't want to, a good reason, then I believe you’d be correct.” 

 

After a few beats of silence, and Phillip absentmindedly staring at a sock that's inside out, Brandon's voice is closer behind him.

 

“I'm trying to be cordial and friendly with you, Phillip. I don't do that for anyone.” 

 

“I’m sure you’re the type to do it to many people and claim the same thing,” Phillip closes the top drawer and opens the second, repeating his actions. He hears Brandon sigh dramatically.

 

“I’m not going to drop this. I want to get to know you. I’m your roommate, you’ll have to talk to me at some point.”

 

“I am talking to you.”

 

“I mean, become my friend,” Brandon mutters and Phillip cranes his neck to look at him. Brandon’s gaze flickers down to the wood floor. “W-We could be friends.” It’s the first time he’s seen Brandon Shaw look almost vulnerable. 

 

“Why?” Phillip asks, something desperate tweaking his voice. He means it. He doesn’t know why Brandon is so adamant about being close to him. 

 

“Want me to be honest?”  Brandon asks, eyes wide. Phillip nods.

 

“You saw me take Ms. Fawly’s watch, and I need to stick close to you to make sure you keep your promise about not ratting me out. I care very deeply about my reputation, Phillip. Trust me, that’s the only reason. I know how deeply you said you cared about not forming any relationships during your stay here. With David out of the way, all you’ll have to worry about is me.”

 

The words sting in a way Phillip isn’t expecting. He tips his chin up. “You’re not worth my time, I’d suggest harassing another underclassman. You won’t have to worry about me saying anything, as I’ve told you.”

 

“That’s something a rat would say,” Brandon teases, sitting down on David’s old bed. It finally sinks in that Phillip isn’t going to escape him, day or night. Brandon knows where he sits at lunch. He’s with him first period, and then with him in their dorm until bedtime. He’s stuck with a juvenile loon for the rest of the year at the very least. Unless…

 

“I’ll just apply for a room reassignment. Easy as pie, didn’t it take you just a day?” 

 

Phillip is no stranger to power play, he’s done it with his own mother many times when debating and negotiating his own wants and needs as her only child. He almost takes pleasure in the look of defeat in Brandon’s face.

 

“Please don’t,” he eventually says. Pathetically.

 

“I’m thinking Kenneth,” Phillip responds, the corners of his lips twitching up as he senses Brandon’s shoulders slumping further down. “He’s normal, nice, and wouldn’t spy on his roommate for the rest of the semester just to make sure he doesn’t ruin his own reputation like some corrupt politician.”

 

“Oh please, I could never be a politician, corrupt or not,” Brandon blows out a puff of smoke. “It’s all war, war, depression, recession, tax raise, war.” He stretches his legs out on the bed, his socked toes barely touching the edge of the bed frame. 

 

“You seem to have a close relationship to the charm of rhetoric, I’d say,” Phillip moves closer to Brandon, eyeing the cigarette case in Brandon’s uniform pocket. “May I?”

 

Brandon eyes sparkle up at him eagerly, and he grabs his case and hands Phillip a cigarette. Phillip allows it to hang from his lips as Brandon fumbles for his lighter and rolls it for a flame. Phillip leans in close to catch the end of the smoke on the flame, taking it between his fingers and breathing out the putrid smoke from his lungs and nostrils. The warmth in his head from the cigarette calms him slightly. 

 

“And who said rhetoric belongs only to politicians?” Brandon finally asks when Phillip seems wholly satisfied. “I’d say some great Philosophers use the charm of rhetoric in their own speech.”

 

“You enjoy philosophy?”

 

“I dabble,” Brandon says with a toothy smile that reaches up to his ears. “It’s always intrigued me, really. Perhaps you’d enjoy it as well.”

 

Phillip can’t help but smile marginally. “I seem to have forgotten our initial quarrel.”

 

“See?!” Brandon nearly shouts. “We’re getting along already. Isn’t friends better than enemies?”

 

“I never said we were friends,” Phillip mutters, and returns to his closet to straighten out his jackets and rearrange his winter hats and gloves. This doesn’t deter Brandon who stretches out his arms behind his head in a leisurely fashion. 

 

“You like me.” 

 

There is a reprehensible part of Phillip’s brain that refuses to dispute that accusation.

  
“I knew it.” 

 

“If you’re going to be my roommate, you can at least be quiet when necessary,” Phillip grumbles. He opens his sandwich and starts eating it on his bed, and flips open a book he’s supposed to be reading for English. He reads the first line ten times, and it doesn’t process for him. He glances over at Brandon who is in the same position, staring softly at Phillip.

 

There is an excessive silence before Phillip is forced to ask, “What, now?” 

 

“I like you too,” Brandon responds genuinely.

 

Phillip feels his heart skip a beat, along with the unfamiliar churning in his gut from earlier when Brandon had unbuttoned his shirt for him. He reverts straight to sarcasm to deflect the intrusive feelings. “Oh, thank goodness. Now I can sleep at night.”

 

Damn him. Brandon doesn’t even flinch from his condescending tone. Luckily, Brandon decides to take a nap while Phillip finishes his lunch and reads his text for English. Though, a part of Phillip misses the back of forth. It had only been a day, but Phillip knows he’d never  have gotten an interesting conversation out of David Kentley, that’s for certain. 

 

* * *

 

It’s time for class, and Phillip grits his teeth at the doorway of his room. Brandon is still asleep, and he has the choice to wake him up or leave him to nap and miss class. He figures despite their supposed rivalry he can do the gentlemanly thing for once. Sighing, he shuffles back over to the bed where Brandon is sleeping soundly, not a hair on his head out of place.

 

Phillip reaches an awkward arm down to shake him. Brandon doesn’t budge or wince. “Hey, Shaw. Class time.” He shakes him harder. Nothing. 

 

Phillip scratches his head, and almost turns to leave before leaning closer and pinching Brandon’s side sharply. He earns a loud shriek.

 

“Okay, okay, I was awake!” Brandon says with a breathy laugh, and rubs absently where he was pinched. “I was wondering how far you’d go to wake me up, I wasn’t expecting that.” He giggles again and Phillip shakes his head.

 

“You’re incredulous.”

 

“A big word for someone your age, Phillip.”

 

“Shut up, you’re the same age as me,” Phillip replies, “and I’ve had to do a lot of growing up on my own time. Classic literature is a big friend of mine.”

 

“I don’t share your interests, but I respect them.” Brandon hops off his bed and straightens his uniform out with two tugs. “Also, I’d ask you not to call me Shaw again. I’ve never appreciated the way it sounds on people’s tongues. And, I like the way you say Brandon. Your voice has a very articulate and elongated way about it, it’s quite captivating.”

 

Phillip raises a brow, but doesn’t argue. “I’m heading to class.”

 

“Let me walk with you!” Brandon half-shouts, in a hurry. 

 

“Your class is in the social science sector?”

 

“Oh, no. I have theater next.”

  
Phillip swallows, simmering in mild confusing. “You’ll be late.”

 

“I don’t mind,” Brandon says. “I’ll be fashionably late as they say.”

 

Phillip obviously isn’t going to be able to convince Brandon to part ways with him for now, so he nods and silently gestures for Brandon to follow, who complies like a jittery dog. He finds he doesn’t hate Brandon’s company, in fact, anything that would normally be an awkward silence translates into a comfortable silence. 

 

They don’t speak until Phillip reaches his classroom, three minutes til the bell. He feels he should do something to politely disengage from Brandon, so he smiles, as genuine as he can muster. “See you later, Brandon.”

 

Brandon smiles back, the expression creeping up naturally on his face. “Good luck.”

 

Phillip doesn’t feel the heat rise in his cheeks until he’s sitting at his desk and the teacher taps the chalkboard with a long pointer. He wonders if Brandon ran halfway across campus to make it early to his own class. 

 

* * *

 

After this, Brandon keeps his eyes on Phillip as if he were a vulture constantly circling above. In the morning, he watches him during class instead of paying attention to the riveting discussions about English literature. Not that he needs to listen, Phillip’s slowly come to realize he’s a genius. Naturally. During breaks between periods, Brandon either watches him across campus from afar if Phillip is outside taking up a bench to read a book. Or, he hangs closely to Phillip’s side. When he’s not in class with him, he ends up waiting outside of Phillip’s class, cigarette in hand occasionally, lips turning up into a grin when he sees who he’s looking for. 

 

Phillip wouldn’t eat with him at first. Brandon didn’t stop asking him every day after class, and eventually found Phillip sitting on the library floor and crowded him into the corner much to Phillip’s distaste, and stole the book he’d been reading until Phillip agreed to go to lunch with him at least once.

 

They always spend lunch together, now. Brandon doesn’t get along with David and Kenneth, neither does Phillip for the most part, but he can fake it better than Brandon can. The four of them sit together, with David’s friends from the alumni apartments on his right side, and the space next to Brandon and Phillip entirely empty.

 

When Phillip gets up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, Brandon questions where he’s going. If it’s the bathroom or the shower, he’s satisfied. If it’s anywhere else, he tries to follow or needs to know the exact details. At first it was grating and Phillip would lash out, even slamming the door in Brandon’s face the one night he wanted to take a walk alone. It didn’t stop Brandon from asking, every time. 

 

All of this goes on for a few months. It happens so quickly, Phillip has no time to realize how long it’s been and how comfortable the routine has become. Brandon has become his morning, day, and night, and his entire prep school experience for the most part. It’s suffocating. It’s exciting. It’s new. It’s strange. He’s never had anyone pay this much attention to him. 

 

What scares him slightly, is the fact it doesn’t bother him. It’s comforting for him at this point. He can speak to Brandon easily without anxiety, and their banter is mild enough where it doesn’t leave a sting that lasts days like he’s had with various family members and ex friends in elementary school. And what worries him is that this isn’t as comfortable for Brandon.

 

Brandon’s mentioned various times long ago that this was all a ploy to make sure Phillip doesn’t tattle on him for his crime. He’s only getting close to him because he needs to make sure Phillip stays in line, his words. The golden watch has almost been all but forgotten in Phillip’s mind, especially as the months roll on one by one. 

 

At this point, he  _ wants  _ to see Brandon waiting for him outside of class and  _ know  _ Brandon wants to be waiting there for him. It’s what he looks forward to during the last five minutes of class. It might as well be real. 

 

Phillip wants his and Brandon’s late night philosophical pillow talks to mean something. And eventually the comfort of Brandon’s constant presence plants a ball of anxiety inside Phillip that unravels day by day, and with every word they say to each other, Phillip wonders if it comes from a play of genuinity. 

 

They haven’t talked of the watch, Mrs. Fawly, or the first days they met in at least a month and a half, and the last time they spoke of it, Brandon reminded Phillip it was to remain their secret.

 

It’s lunch time one winter afternoon, and Phillip doesn’t know what’s come over him to bring this up during finals week, but Kenneth and David are spending lunch with the Brent twins from the football team, and he and Brandon are alone.

  
“Do you still have the watch?” he asks softly, and Brandon stops picking at his food to return Phillip’s gaze with one of puzzlement.

 

“Hm?”

 

Phillip lowers his voice to a whisper, though no one is around them and the cafeteria is too loud and involved in it’s own world to hear him anyway. “Mrs. Fawly’s watch, do you have it?”

 

Brandon blinks, and swerves around to check their surroundings. He nods.

  
“Yes.”

 

“Why?” Phillip asks.

 

“It’s the game, Phillip.” Brandon eats a baby carrot and then takes a pen from his coat pocket, drawing on the untouched napkin in the center of the table. He draws a line up and then down like a mountain or a plot diagram. “This represents Mrs. Fawly’s obsession over her watch spanning over one semester.”

 

He trails the pen up the rise of the first line, and Phillip’s eyes follow it diligently.

  
“She gets desperate, she involves the police, she even takes a few sick days because the watch had been something her grandfather passed down to her over many generations, and then come the middle of October, she begins to give up on the pipe dream of getting the watch back from a stranger thief she never saw even once, and then…”

 

Brandon trails the pen down the decline, darkening the line. “Educational authority accepts defeat from the power of mere freshman intelligence.”

 

“Do you feel as if you’re some metaphor in some higher philosophical stratagem then?” Phillip questions, half intrigued as to why Brandon found this so necessary to focus on during his school year. Phillip knows Brandon’s smart enough to skip all his classes and pass the courses, but he can’t wrap his head around why he’d get kicks out of breaking the rules so intricately.

  
“If you want to word it that way.” Brandon grins, and warmth blossoms in Phillip’s chest. Brandon shared his ideals with him, that certainly counts for something. 

 

Brandon opens his mouth to say something further, but closes it. Phillip's unsure he's ever seen Brandon speechless or struggle to formulate a sentence.

 

“What is it, Brandon?”

 

“I need to go call my mother up at the farm, and she likes to talk for quite a while. Will you be okay alone for the rest of lunch until your next class?” Brandon asks, and Phillip will be damned if that isn't a sliver of actual concern in his eyes.

 

“Brandon,” Phillip says with a smile he can't seem to control. “I've survived most of my life without you, I'm sure I can manage.” 

 

“Perhaps,” Brandon says, tired yet still playful. “I'll catch up with you soon.” 

 

He takes his tray, which is a little more than halfway finished, and takes it over to the washbins. Phillip sits and stares at the diagram on the napkin after Brandon vanishes from the cafeteria. It's been a while since he's had a full lunch period to himself.

 

Perhaps he'll practice piano. 

 

It's then a familiar voice rears up behind him. “Phillip!”

 

“Ken!” Phillip manages a smile as Kenneth sits down beside him. 

 

“Hey, the Brent twins said they wanted to invite you to a party they're having tonight. Girls. Alcohol. The whole thing. You interested?”

 

“Me? Whatever for?” Phillip barely talks to anyone. He's only ever seen the Brent twins in biology. Probably talked to them only a couple times.

 

“David and I spoke highly of you, we remembered you talking about wanting to get into some alcohol earlier in the year. Not gone chicken have you?”

 

“Not chicken, no. Ken, I don't know if Brandon-”

 

“They'd rather...not, have Brandon there, Phillip I'm sure you understand. He can get a bit intense with people he's unfamiliar with. They barely know him too,” Ken says. If it were David, Phillip might have snapped at him to defend Brandon's name (the sentimentalist he’s become) but Kenneth always means well. 

 

Brandon will be more than suspicious if Phillip doesn't show up in their dorm later tonight at his usual hour. It's a Friday, Brandon is probably expecting piano practice or a dramatic poetry reading in their room. He also thinks about himself, how perhaps he needs to get away from the confinement of routine, live a little. 

 

When he initially arrived at Somerville, he  _ had _ a plan to get wasted at least once. He isn't sure where the girls are from, a local school, but he supposes this might be his only chance to see a real live one for a long time being at a boys boarding house. The thought of going makes his stomach churn again, like the first day of school.

 

Feeling slightly ill, Phillip nods anyway. “Sure, Kenneth.”

 

Kenneth gives him the place and time and during Phillip's next few classes, the anxiety about the party festers into a looming voice in his head telling him he's doing something wrong.

 

Because he's not planning on telling Brandon at all. They've been nearly inseparable, basically a package deal at this point. Despite Phillip’s initial wants and needs to remain friendless, he basically failed on that front. This seems almost like a betrayal. And yet later that night, he finds himself standing outside the door of the Brent twin's dorm, listening to the droning voices of people shouting and dancing, alongside a muffled record player.

 

He knocks and is welcomed inside. He tries to put Brandon out of his mind for now. Brandon isn't his keeper, and he's free to do as he pleases. 

 

* * *

 

Two drinks in, Phillip discovers he's a lightweight. He's unsure of what he's slurring or saying, but the whole room seems to be in the same predicament. The shouting and wooing becomes an irritating white noise, and his head throbs. 

 

There are girls, like Ken said there would be, and they're kissing some of the boys and hanging on them like concupiscent sloths. Phillip jots it down as an effect of the alcohol that they seem to him, entirely undesirable, in every way. 

 

A blonde girl named Betty has been eyeing him all night, and as he pours himself a third drink, she waltzes over and runs her delicate fingers over the pristine white of his button-up. “I heard you've got good hands on the piano.”

 

Her voice is pitchy and hurts his ears. He nods anyway.

 

“‘'m Phillip,” he mumbles and looks around for someone familiar, feeling vaguely like a fish out of water. He takes a large swig of his drink when he feels her hands run over his chest. “Wanna makeout?!” She shouts over a group of boys screaming about football in the corner. 

 

The thought makes him want to gag (surely because of the alcohol), but she's beautiful by most standards of beauty. He'd look insane not to say yes. With a heavily burdened sigh, he sets his drink down and her lips smash into his before he can nod. Their teeth click painfully. He feels nothing as she slobbers over his mouth, her breath tasting like the most bitter part of whiskey. 

 

Phillip awkwardly places his hands on her shoulders, not pushing or pulling, and tries to move his mouth with hers in tandem. He hears a muffled shout from David Kentley, sounding something like, “Get some, Phillip!” 

 

Betty puts her hand dangerously close to his pelvis and instinctively he shoves her away with an almost violent force. Phillip only just realizes he's shaking, and his eyes widen in fear as she grabs a handful of his hair and pulls him back in, body against his. Breasts and all. 

 

“Please,” he slurs. “Stop,  _ stop! _ ” He shouts but the party is so loud only Betty can hear. “G'off me.” He pushes her off again and she huffs indignantly, adjusting a bra strap.

 

“You a queer or something?” Her face is twisted in an ugly expression, and Phillip feels queasy after hearing her accusation. 

 

She rushes off towards the back of the party disappearing into the mingling puffs of smoke from the football players. 

 

Phillip is still shaking, wondering why that experience couldn't have just been normal for him like it is for everyone else in the room. He downs his third drink fairly quickly and that's when David arrives at his side with another drink in hand. “The Brent's told me to give you their special concoction. Made it themselves. They saw you having a rough time.”

 

Phillip remains silent, and is surprised at himself when he doesn't spill it on the floor. He’s almost certain the floor is moving, or he’s falling through it. David is gone when he looks around, doesn’t know when he walked away, and halfway through the Brents’ moonshine, he feels so sick he regrets ever being born. 

 

Dizziness and an excruciating migraine have him tumbling forward and backward, black spots speckling his vision. This can’t be right, he thinks. He feels disconnected from his own body as he struggles to find some sort of familiarity. He spots Kenneth and before he knows it he's fallen on him and Kenneth is shouting for help as the world fades to black. 

 

When he comes to, it isn't too much later, the dizziness and migraine still very present, and he's groaning incoherently slumped over Kenneth and David's shoulder. “Brandon,” he finds himself muttering his name over and over again. 

 

“Yeah, we're bringing you back to your dorm buddy, don't worry.”

 

Phillip isn't sure if it was Kenneth or David who just said that. They look the same in the dim light of the dormitory halls.  He fades in and out of consciousness, hearing vague comments about how enraged Brandon is going to be. 

 

He's almost fully conked out when they reach his room, and he hears shouting and a lot of arguing between Kenneth, Brandon, and David. Phillip isn't aware enough to even move a muscle at this point, but he hears snippets such as “if you take him to the nurse, the Brents will get arrested,” and “someone might have spiked his drink.” 

 

With the last remaining bits of consciousness he has left, he revels in the tremendous amount of relief when being handed over to Brandon. He’s unsure if he lets out a soft sigh when he melts into Brandon’s tall frame. In an instant, he fades out completely, in Brandon's arms, face pressed into his chest. Incoherent to all hell. 

 

* * *

 

Phillip's heard of hangovers, but their reputation is not as bad as their reality. He wakes up in his own bed and moans, hand immediately flying to his head. The sun beams down on his face and he has half a mind to never allow the shades to be open again. He's so preoccupied with his headache, he isn't prepared for the rush of memories from the previous night. The most important thing on his mind…

 

Brandon.

 

He looks over at Brandon's bed. It's empty, and doesn't even look slept in. It's then Phillip notices Brandon is sitting in a chair right beside him, his head rested on the small portion of mattress beside Phillip’s chest. “Brandon!” He says, half out of relief, half because he's the only person he needs right now. He tries to lean up but blood rushes loud in his head and he moans again. Brandon's eyes flutter open and when he sees Phillip is awake, all exhaustion from his expression fades.

 

“Phillip,” he whispers, knowing exactly what pitch to speak at. “You're okay.”

 

“Barely,” Phillip grumbles. Brandon looks so relieved that he feels pain in his chest, entirely separate from the hangover. He needs to fix it. “Brandon, I'm sorry,” he whispers, eyes welling up before he can stop them.

 

Brandon blinks and watches as tears fall from Phillip's eyes. Phillip continues. “I just wanted to be like the normal crowd for a while. I don't know what I was thinking, I'm sorry I caused you to worry. You've been such a,” he pauses, swallowing, “a good friend to me.”

 

He’s admitted it. Brandon is his friend. He’s never had a friend before, not like this. 

 

“Phillip, don't apologize,” Brandon reaches a hand over to wipe his tears away. “There's nothing to cry about. When you feel better we can discuss it more, you should get more rest, it's Saturday after all — ”

  
  


“I kissed a girl,” Phillip confesses. He doesn't mean to say it, it sort of slips out as a revelation as more memories become clear. And the expression on Brandon's face drops from concerned relief to something darker Phillip can’t read. Is too tired to try and understand. 

 

“Well, she kissed me that is, and it was awful. I’ve never kissed anyone.” Phillip swallows. “I can't even be with a girl properly, how am I supposed to be normal? It didn’t mean anything to me, Brandon, nothing at all.” He isn’t sure why he adds that latter part, but he feels better seeing a soft smile return to Brandon’s lips. Phillip lays in silence, watching Brandon mull over things in his head quietly. 

 

Brandon stands abruptly; he seems lost in his own thoughts. Phillip tries to sit up again, but falls back, succumbing to the pain. “Where are you going?” He hopes his voice doesn't sound too desperate. 

 

“You're drink was spiked, Phillip. Kenneth and David told me last night that the Brent twins wanted to play a prank, and it went too far.”

 

The information is too much for Phillip to process so he just stares blankly and waits for Brandon to say more. He isn’t sure what he ever did to earn the hatred of the Brent twins. 

 

“Don't move,” Brandon orders, voice still consciously low. “I won't be long. I mean it when I say, Don't.  _ Move _ .”

 

Brandon takes long strides towards the door, and stops under the arch way, not turning to ask, “What was her name?”

  
“Who?” Phillip can’t think properly.

 

“The girl who…” Brandon trails off and Phillip can see his fingers twitching. 

 

Oh. 

  
“Betty,” Phillip says weakly. He has the strange urge to tell Brandon again that the kiss really meant nothing, but that would be repetitive and unnecessary, and yet it’s all he can think about saying. There is something in the air clearly unresolved. 

 

Brandon says nothing and leaves, closing the door behind him. Phillip is left with an empty sort of regret stirring in his stomach and he tries not to let the burning in his eyes win him over. Though he slept for a long while, the exhaustion of pain seems to pull him into the unconscious once more. 

 

Phillip can swear he feels a hand stroking his hair, but when he wakes up entirely, eyes slowly focusing, Brandon is leaning over him, hands in his pockets. He smiles down at him. Phillip smiles back, rather giddy that his headache is almost completely gone.

 

“How are we feeling?” Brandon asks. He scoots the chair still by the bed closer and sits, watching as Phillip sits up calmly.

 

“Much better. How long were you gone?”

 

“Not too long,” Brandon replies hurriedly, as if he’s been rehearsing responses. Phillip doesn’t have the will to pry, and he swings his legs off the side of the bed, hopping onto the floor.

 

He wobbles momentarily, and reaches for the bureau beside the bed to steady him, Brandon is up in an instant, grip tight around Phillip’s wrist. Where Brandon’s hand is touching his skin, he feels sharp warmth that makes his head feel fuzzy. Phillip gazes up at Brandon when he’s gained his complete footing, and Brandon drops Phillip’s wrist as if he’s been caught red handed. 

 

Phillip is unsure how to tell Brandon he doesn’t mind the touch, without sounding, well,  _ weird _ .

 

Brandon clears his throat, arms now folded behind his back before he says as casual as he can muster, “Do you need help walking?” 

 

As much as Phillip wants to say yes, he really doesn’t need help. And he doesn’t want to burden Brandon more than he already has. “No, I,” he starts with a stammer, “I think I’ll go to the shower on my own.”  

 

Brandon nods and steps out of his way. Phillip moves past him, having the strong urge to embrace him. It’s normal isn’t it? To wish to hug your friend after they’ve helped you with a terrible situation. Yes, it’s normal. It’s what Phillip tells himself, but he doesn’t act on it.  And he leaves the room after grabbing his shower supplies without another word.

 

* * *

 

It’s not until the scalding water is running over his cooled skin that he remembers how Brandon’s hand felt around his wrist. The memory of the warmth pools in his gut, and impossibly he feels it hotter than the water spraying down on him. He tries to ignore the feeling and push out any and all thoughts as he rubs shampoo into his hair. 

 

An unwanted image of Brandon applying the shampoo for him and using those long fingers to dig into the sensitive parts of his scalp finds its way into the forefront of his imagination, and Phillip curses out the reality of such intrusive thoughts. 

 

The visions don’t mean anything, it’s just another one of those things that could be explained away by Freud simply and as matter of fact as they come.

 

Phillip then imagines how Brandon would look in the shower, gelled hair loose and pliant, the long curve of his spine, and the strength of those legs that are like towers, the toned muscle in them. Everything wet and steaming. The warmth in Phillip’s gut travels downward and he finds that maybe he’s gotten a little too  _ excited _ .

 

Not worrying about it and dealing with the issue as fast as he can will make sure that he doesn’t think too hard about the images he keeps picturing. Taking a deep breath, Phillip shakily takes himself in hand, refusing to acknowledge just how hard he is, and brings himself over the edge to rid himself of the problem.

 

* * *

 

Phillip’s drying his hair with a towel, the other he’d brought is tied around his waist. He doesn’t mean to overhear someone else’s conversation, but at this point there’s no avoiding it really. 

 

“Shaw really knocked ya, didn’t he?” a gruff voice says.

 

“Shut up, I could’ve taken him. I just didn’t want to get caught,” says a voice that sounds suspiciously similar to Miles Brent, one of the Brent brothers.

 

“Getting caught wasn’t something  _ he _ cared about at least,” the gruff voice responds. Phillip’s thoughts are jumping through hoops, and he cautiously steps towards the lockers where he can hear the voices coming from. He pears over the edge and sees Miles Brent tucking his gym shoes into his locker, but more importantly sees fresh cuts, and a bruise forming around his right eye. 

 

Phillip chokes on his own gasp and then hurries over to his things, quickly getting dressed, and rushing back towards the direction of the dorm. His hair is still wet, but he doesn’t notice the cold of winter before he’s trotting up the stairs and standing in front of Brandon’s bed, heaving and lungs feeling frozen over.

 

“What’s wrong, Phillip?” Brandon asks, and the expression of concern on his face suddenly sickens Phillip, and he wants to slap it off. He’d much rather take his smug grin right about now. Brandon stands and closes in on him, twirling one of Phillip’s black curls around his finger. “Did you forget to dry your hair? You’re going to get a cold, and then I’d be forced to stay in all day to take care of you. How thoughtless.”

  
“Seems like you’re already taking care of me enough as it is,” Phillip bites back. Brandon’s brow furrows and he slips his hands into his pockets.

 

“How do you mean?” 

 

“I saw Miles’ eye! Miles Brent, the one who you said spiked my drink, he and his brother,” Phillip rambles. Brandon does smile then, smugly, but Phillip isn’t finished. “I was going to take care of it and then you went behind my back and you — ”

 

“Defended you?” Brandon adds.

 

“Hurt somebody!” Phillip nearly shouts. “I don’t know why you thought that would give me any satisfaction, but I’ll have you know it doesn’t, not in the slightest.”

 

“So you’re bitter with me because I punched the student who spiked your drink purposefully when you were at your most vulnerable?” Brandon questions innocently. He shouldn’t word it like that; Phillip refuses to soften.

 

“I told you, I could have taken care of it,” Phillip mutters sharply. It’s not exactly the fact Brandon hurt somebody, more that he had done it by himself and without Phillip’s consent. 

 

“I wasn’t sure when you’d be back on your feet, and besides,” Brandon reaches around, placing his hand at the curve of Phillip’s lower back. Phillip nearly jumps out of his skin when Brandon presses him forward. It’s a few dazed seconds later he realizes he’s being led to his bed. 

 

“Sit down.”

 

Phillip does Brandon sits beside him, leaning against the wall, fiddling with his thumbs. “The parents of the Brent twins run the business of one of the few sponsors of this school. You couldn’t have done much going to administration or to the Dean, they’d sooner indict you for drinking alcohol than they would hold the Brent’s responsible for hosting the party. They’d certainly sweep any accusation you had against them under the rug, even if it did tarnish their reputation. You would have come out of it worse off. I couldn’t allow that, could I?”

 

Phillip doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s right of course, but that doesn’t really make Phillip feel any better. He opens his mouth, trying to find the right words.

 

“Next time, wait for me.”

 

Brandon perks up, and stares directly down at Phillip in astonishment. “Excuse me?”   
  


“I want you to wait for me next time. If you’re going to get involved with matters that have to do with me, I want to be there for it as well. I don’t want you just going off making decisions about what should be done on your own,” Phillip says. He doesn’t make eye contact with Brandon.

 

After a few agonizing seconds of silence, Brandon laughs dryly.    
  


“Phillip, as much as I like you, I don’t think that’d be possible.” 

 

“Whyever not?” Phillip demands, head snapping up.

 

“You’re too,” Brandon’s face scrunches in amusement, “soft.” 

 

“I am not!” Phillip whines. Perhaps it’s a little unbecoming, but Brandon is treating him like a child, he feels entirely demeaned where he sits. 

 

“Are too,” Brandon says, trying to hold back a smile.

  
“Am not,” Phillip kicks Brandon’s foot with his where they dangle off the bed. Brandon smirks down at him and pushes him over on the bed with his shoulder. Phillip had forgotten how strong Brandon is.  

 

“Are too,” he replies simply. Phillip grumbles and sits back up, pushing at Brandon’s chest weakly with his hands. This earns him a sharp laugh, and Brandon grabs one of Phillip’s wrists in his hand again, and the familiar warmth returns. He hopes his cheeks aren’t turning red as he struggles to get out of Brandon’s grasp. Brandon’s too playful this time though, because he grabs Phillip’s other wrist as Phillip struggles futilely, and pins him down to the bed. Brandon is basically completely on top of him, only hovering inches away from touching him. The only points of connection are the hands around his wrists where Phillip can hear the pounding of his pulse.

 

He’s lost his breath and his voice as Brandon stares down at him. He tries to justify it in his mind somehow. They’re just wrestling. Phillip’s seen Kenneth and David do it in the courtyard for fun. The only issue is, he’s not struggling against Brandon like he’d seen Kenneth do countless times when David pins him down. The two of them are on a small bed, and Brandon is so close, Phillip feels a part of him. Brandon’s expression is contemplative, and they stare at each other in stark silence. 

 

And Phillip is sure Kenneth doesn’t get the urge to lean up and close the gap where he can feel Brandon’s breath on his lips. Shame washes over Phillip. Brandon’s lips widen into a smile and he releases his grip on Phillip’s wrists, sitting up on his haunches. “Point made,” he says quietly, taking a cigarette out from the case in his pocket, and lights it. He climbs off of Phillip’s lap and casually strolls over to his own bed where he picks up the book he had been reading when Phillip walked in and flips the page.

 

Phillip is resting on his elbows, trying to steady his breathing, unsure exactly what just happened.  All he knows is that he lost whatever argument he was trying to make. Defeated, he gets up to stagger over to where he dropped his shower supplies, and goes to organize them in their designated place.

 

* * *

 

Brandon and Phillip don’t speak until the semester ends when Phillip wishes Brandon happy holidays. They still eat lunch together, walk each other to class, but without a word spoken. Brandon has his suitcase in hand at the door when Phillip wishes him well, and he smiles brightly. “You too, Phillip. I’ll see you soon.” 

 

And that was that. Phillip would have normally dreaded going home to his mother, but the familiarity of home was also very much needed. He didn’t care for once that his mother was gone most of Christmas, spending nights at her suitors’ apartments, or that the maid slacked off and ignored him when he asked for food. The feeling of his own bed sheets was the only thing he really wanted at the moment. No students, no classes, no worries.

 

It was a month before he went back for his second semester. Occasionally, on a good day, his mother would talk to him about things mothers should talk about. She must’ve seen how distant he’s seemed recently, and a day before they drive back up to Somerville, he’s having breakfast with her when she asks. “Who is she?”

 

“Who?” Phillip questions after a few silent moments of dinging his spoon against his cereal bowl. The cornflakes taste like cardboard. 

 

“You look like your head’s been in the clouds. Same look your father used to make at me when we were young,”  Phillip’s mother muses. Phillip almost drops his spoon.

 

Mother never speaks of his father. If she does, it’s about how he died, or that time (only once) when she told Phillip how they met. Phillip coughs. 

 

“I’m not seeing anyone.”

 

“Sure,” she chuckles. “Make sure your things are packed.” And that was the end of the conversation. The closest Mrs. Morgan may ever get to proper motherhood. Phillip considers packing his stuffed elephant he’s had since he was a toddler, but he remembers Brandon calling him soft and decides not to. 

 

“Not today, Phanty,” he says and chuckles to himself and gently brushes some pseudo fur away from his elephant’s black plastic eyes. 

 

_ Brandon _ . He’ll be seeing Brandon tomorrow. Phillip wonders if enough time has passed since their argument (tussle?) that they can interact again, simply forget it ever happened. Sometimes Phillip isn’t even sure if it was an argument. It felt like one, until, he —

 

Phillip shakes the thought off. He tosses his elephant back onto his bed.

 

* * *

 

The room still smells like it did a month ago. Cologne and sweat. It’s strangely alluring. Phillip begins putting his things away again, back in their proper place, while still looking up every few seconds at the door, waiting for it to open. He’s in his room three hours before it does. 

 

It’s not Brandon, it’s an older man, yet still somewhat young. Phillip stands up straight and stares at the man who smiles gently at him.

 

“I’m Rupert Cadell, your new housemaster. Are you Brandon Shaw or Phillip Morgan?”

 

“Morgan,” Phillip responds. He wants to ask what happened to the housemaster they had last semester, and Mr. Cadell seems to read his mind.

 

“The last housemaster had an issue with previous criminal altercations if you’d believe it.” Mr. Cadell’s voice is slow and gravelly, but somehow mesmerizing. Phillip nods. “I just wanted to introduce myself you see, so you don’t get confused seeing me wandering the halls. Tell Brandon for me would you? I’m making my rounds to everybody at the moment.”

 

Phillip nods again. “Yes, sir.”

 

“Don’t call me  _ Sir _ . Rupert is fine, or Mr. Cadell.” He’s oddly charming.

 

Phillip swallows, almost responding  _ Yes, sir _ again on accident. “Yes, Mr. Cadell.”

 

When he leaves, the door swings open soon enough that Phillip hasn’t moved from where he is standing. Brandon drops his suitcase to the floor and grins. Phillip had almost forgotten how at home that smile makes him feel. He wonders briefly how Brandon managed to weave a web around him so completely that Phillip feels so comfortable with him. 

 

“Did you have happy holidays, Phillip?” he questions. Not particularly, but Phillip’s never been one for holidays for the most part, so he nods as to not dredge up an unneeded conversation.

 

“How about you?” Phillip asks, glad that things seem to be going back to normal for the most part. Brandon rolls his suitcase over to his bed and starts unpacking as he speaks.

 

“Oh, yes. My mother’s farm is lovely in the winter. I think you’d very much appreciate the beauty of a horse covered in snow, galloping through the fields, like some four-legged, neighing, angel.”

 

“You have horses?!” Phillip blurts out, unable to contain his excitement. He’s loved horses ever since he was young. He’s always wished to ride one.

 

Brandon turns, and raises a finger, signaling for Phillip to wait. He digs around in the bottom of his suitcase for a minute or so before bringing out two photographs and a sketch. “These are by my family’s professional photographer, and a sketch artist for the third because she never stays still for a picture.”

 

Phillip looks through the pictures, the sketch is his favorite breed of horse. Klondike. “What’s her name?” Phillip asks, the smile on his face unbridled. 

 

“Eclipse, after-” 

  
“One of the greatest race horses of the 18th century, yes,” Phillip whispers and reluctantly hands the sketch back over to Brandon who is staring at him thoughtfully.

 

“You should visit the farm sometime, my mother never has an issue with guests. You can ride her if you like,” Brandon says. Phillip would want nothing more than to do all that, but visiting Brandon’s farm seems a little too personal. They don’t even know each other that well.

 

Perhaps they know each other more than Phillip would like to admit.

 

“I don’t know how to ride a horse,” Phillip mutters, a blush creeping up his face and he goes to straighten the sheets on his bed to avoid Brandon’s intense gaze.

 

“I’ll teach you then,” Brandon replies. The image of Brandon behind him on a horse, a hand around his waist, it’s intoxicating. They’d be so close. Phillip can’t argue. He doesn't want to.

 

* * *

 

The next couple months go by like a majority of the first semester did. Phillip and Brandon have intelligent conversations over many subjects and enjoy each other’s company. They don’t speak of the scuffle before winter break. And that  _ should  _ be the peak of their relationship. They’ve reached the tip of the iceberg, and Phillip knows he should remain there, but every so often, he feels the iceberg crack and shake, and he’s not sure how much longer he can pretend he doesn’t feel tension between them.

 

Phillip isn’t certain it’s from the fight, but he guesses it’s that. Sometimes when Brandon stares at him a little too long, Phillip feels the urge to bring up that day they stopped talking at the end of the first semester. To get to the bottom of why his heart races when Brandon walks into a room.

 

Every night when he goes to bed, he hears Brandon call him soft in his head, and he feels impotence weed its way into his body like a disease. He thought he and Brandon were on equal grounds, but he remembers the accusation and is reminded Brandon doesn’t trust him with the rougher activities he gets himself involved in. Felonies, or otherwise.

 

He wants Brandon to trust him, and see him as an equal, so badly. He’s never desired this of anyone, but then again he’s never cared so deeply for one soul.

 

Phillip figures out a plan, a very crude and underdeveloped plan at the moment, but a plan nonetheless. And he steals a few knowing glances in Brandon’s direction late at night when Brandon is nose-deep in a philosophy book. He’s been getting into a lot of Philosophy recently, something Mr. Cadell had suggested apparently.

 

Phillip sighs, and doodles on a blank piece of paper dreamily. 

 

* * *

 

For about a month, he practices his aim on his own time, telling Brandon that he’s been taking jogs up behind the campus at the nearby lake for his health. In reality he’s set up far away targets to throw rocks at, almost like archery and baseball mixed together. 

 

The plan is to throw a rock through the Dean’s window at midnight and shatter it. 

 

Brandon’s committed worse crimes than that during his stay here, and Phillip figures the school can spare a couple hundred dollars in window payments.

 

As Phillip tosses a rock across the small lake, and nearly hits the cardboard target he’s set up, he tells himself again as he always does. This is for Brandon. If Brandon wants him not to be weak, he’ll show him once and for all. 

 

He’s no weakling.

 

* * *

 

The second half of the year goes by quickly, and when Brandon leaves for spring break, Phillip spends that week by the lake almost the entire time, and he realizes he’s practically perfected his aim. He only misses once out of every thirty tosses. 

 

* * *

 

Finals come quickly, and so does the last day of freshman year. The day that Phillip is planning to show Brandon what he’s been cooking up.

 

Brandon’s been abnormally quiet for the most part, and Phillip is surprised to see him actually studying for his tests. He wonders if Brandon received a stern talk from his parents about keeping his grades up. Or perhaps Mr. Cadell said something; Brandon’s been acting as if Mr. Cadell is some sort of God. It doesn’t phase Phillip much. Brandon likes praise from people who are difficult to get praise from. And Mr. Cadell is certainly that man, barely gives praise to any student even if they work day and night, nonstop. 

 

Phillip isn’t sure really why Brandon is so obsessed with him. He tries to pretend like it isn’t effecting him that Brandon’s been distant lately because of him. It’s not like Phillip’s been readily available with all his training either. 

 

While he’s quiet, Brandon occasionally watches Phillip read in their room or he asks Phillip to come sit on his bed so they can talk closely about the philosophy of the universe. Phillip’s not as intrigued by philosophy as Brandon, but he does enjoy watching Brandon talk about something he’s genuinely passionate about.

 

One night when Brandon slaps his shoulder by accident while he’s gesturing wildly about existentialism, Phillip realizes he never expected to care for someone so much coming into prep school. He doesn’t remember ever being this content.

 

Calling Brandon his best friend would be an understatement.

 

* * *

 

Brandon aced his finals, and so did Phillip (except for the B he received in theater for low participation), and that night when they both settle in for sleep, packed and ready to leave for home the next day, Phillip remains awake, focusing on Brandon’s soft snores while he counts the hours and the minutes until midnight.

 

It’s 11:50 or a close approximation to it. 

 

Phillip slides out of his bed, in his striped pajamas, and takes in a shaky breath before walking to Brandon’s bed and shaking him gently. 

 

“Brandon, wake up,” Phillip says quietly. Brandon does, much more a light-sleeper than Phillip, and he gives a tired smile. 

 

“What time is it?” 

  
“Nearly midnight.”

 

“Are you okay?” 

 

“Nevermind that,” Phillip whispers, and tugs Brandon’s blankets down. “Come with me.”

 

Brandon’s body scrunches up almost into a ball. “It’s cold, Phillip.”

 

“Brandon,” Phillip repeats, staring directly at him. “I need you to come with me.”

 

Without asking further questions, Brandon is up and off his bed in moments. He grabs his robe and ties it snugly around his waist. It’s crimson with gold lining. “Are we going far?”

 

“A tad,” Phillip admits, and grabs his own robe. Phillip reaches a hand out, not thinking much of it, but falters when he sees Brandon’s reaction to it. It’s unreadable, but shocked in some sense, and just as Phillip prepares to lower his hand, Brandon takes it and intertwines their fingers.

 

Phillip wasn’t expecting  _ that _ , but he’s in such a rush to prove to Brandon that he’s worthy, he wastes no time tugging him out of their dorm, and guardedly leading him down the hall and out into the courtyard. 

  
“Phillip, what has gotten into you?” Brandon questions, though there is a playful aspect to his tone. “Though I’m sure you know, it’s past curfew.”

 

“I know,” Phillip says, “shouldn’t bother you.” He stops at the largest oak tree, digging around the mulch for a rock a little under the size of his fist. Brandon watches him, confused, yet curious. 

 

“You know I have the utmost respect for you, Phillip, but it is rather freezing out here, so if there’s any way you could speed up the proceedings — ”

 

“Here!” Phillip whisper-shouts, and tosses a perfectly sized rock up in the air, catching it again in his right hand. 

 

“A rock,” Brandon notes, hands in pockets.

 

Phillip smiles. “Do you remember a few weeks before winter break?” From the uncomfortable expression on Brandon’s face, he gathers he does. “When you told me I was too  _ soft  _ to be involved with the likes of what you do.”

 

“Phillip, that was,” Brandon stutters, “I didn’t mean to m-make you feel — ”

 

“Shut up,” Phillip says mildly. Brandon’s mouth snaps shut, he looks irritated, but he’s done as he’s told. Phillip takes a step closer to him, the rock gripped firmly in his right hand. “I’m going to prove to you I’m more than what you think I am.”

 

Brandon’s eyes glisten and he narrows his gaze. Phillip wonders if Brandon thinks he’s going to bash him over the head with it. 

 

“You thought I’d rat you out to the administration for stealing Mrs. Fawly’s watch, and you thought I’d be too chicken to throw a punch at Miles Brent and his brother. You’ve thought a lot of things about me, Brandon, and I’ve been trying to tell you that I’m not just a wilting flower.”   
  


Phillip takes another few steps forward and pushes up on his tiptoes slowly so he can get close to Brandon’s face properly. He could be wrong, but he thinks momentarily Brandon is staring at his lips. Phillip parts them and his hot breath shows in contrast to the cold weather. 

 

“I am your equal,” Phillip says, enunciating every word. 

 

He doesn’t wait for a response, as he walks to where he’s standing in front of the Dean’s window. It’s far away, but not too far, and he’s standing directly in the center so he doesn’t miss. 

 

Phillip doesn’t waste time, angles his arm back, and tosses sharply. The rock flies through the air and smashes through the window, alarm immediately blaring. Phillip stands in silence for a few beats, registering his own success, and then he laughs, loudly and hysterically, swerving to face Brandon so he can see the utter and absolute shock on —

 

Brandon grabs Phillip’s face with both hands, and his lips are pressing up against his. It takes Phillip a good few seconds to recognize that it’s a kiss, and he freezes, and closes his eyes. Against all odds, he’s certain his heart has stopped. Brandon’s lips are hot against his and he pulls away just as quickly as he claimed him. The alarm’s blare suddenly returns to Phillip’s hearing, and he blinks rapidly, the ghost of Brandon’s lips leaving a tingling feeling on his own. 

 

Brandon’s stumbling away, a sleeve pressed to his mouth, and Phillip feels his legs turn to jelly, reaching out for something to grab onto. Brandon’s gone, disappeared behind buildings, perhaps on his way back to the dorm. The alarm seems to get louder and louder, and then there’s nothing else he can hear other than the incessant ringing. 

 

Phillip hides behind the oak tree, hugging his knees to his chest, bug-eyed and in shock, when the police come rushing over to the shattered window. He cries as he hears their shouting and dry heaves when they leave. He’s not sure how long they’re there. He’s not sure how long he’s been hiding against the tree. 

 

Eventually Phillip sees a hint of sunlight over the distant hills. 


	2. 1938

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter includes talk of childhood sexual abuse, so if you're uncomfortable with that you might want to stay away

Summer. 1938.

 

It is the summer after the Dean’s office fiasco and the kiss still feels like a gunshot in Phillip’s gut. It is also the summer before sophomore year, and it is ending fast, though Phillip cannot remember ever getting up off his bed the entire summer. He spends the majority of his time staring at the ceiling, pondering. 

 

Thinking about how he never wanted that kiss to end. The ramifications of it had long since settled into his heart as something so desired and  _ perfect  _ it made Phillip want to scream.

 

Phillip simultaneously spends most of his summer with his hand down his pants or on his side with a pillow between his legs thinking about Brandon. It’s undignified, maybe, but he’s a teenage boy. And he's unfortunately very sure he's in love. Brandon is all he can think about late at night and in the early mornings when his head is fuzzy with sleep.  

 

The law and the unmitigated judgement of his peers could never dare reach the contents of his mind on any late night alone in his room during the summer of ‘38. Phillip had gone far past the point of shame when one night alone in his room, he started purposefully imagining an alternate universe where he and Brandon were living together in a luxurious apartment and kissing every morning after tea like it was normal.

 

Phillip ponders many times over whether he should send Brandon a letter, but what he would speak about in its contents he was never sure of. He couldn’t talk about what had happened out of fear someone other than Brandon would get their hands on it, and he couldn’t  _ not _ talk about what had happened, so he decides to wait.

 

Wait he does, until it’s Sunday morning and he’s being dropped off at Somerville yet again. There is something much more beautiful about it this time around; the autumn leaves paint a beautiful spectrum of colors along the sidewalks and the chirping larks make Phillip feel almost whimsical, in a dream. He smiles confidently, shoving down the last shreds of apprehension plaguing him. He drags his suitcases along behind him, and his cheeks turn rosy from the chilled winds. 

 

The only person or thing on his mind is Brandon. He wants to hold him, or be held, or tell him that he’s the only person he’s ever had this sort of feeling for, and the world be damned for thinking it a sin. He wants to tell Brandon that his lips are more than welcome on his skin anytime of the day. For all the words he’d practiced over summer, nothing is coming to mind, and he fears he may freeze up the moment he lays eyes on him.

 

Phillip’s practically shaking with nerves when he opens the door to his dorm. He opens his mouth and starts to say, “Bran — ”

 

A very small boy with ginger hair and freckles is setting up a stack of books on Brandon’s bureau, organizing them alphabetically, and muttering very quietly to himself akin to a pious confession. He swerves when he hears Phillip and grins the ugliest grin Phillip has ever been forced to bare witness to. 

 

“You must be my roommate, I’m Dennis Corkman!” Dennis sniffles and reaches out what looks like a clammy hand. Phillip keeps his hands at his side, and begins to bristle. 

 

Brandon Shaw, the bastard, he’d asked for a room reassignment. He must have. There is not possibility of this happening otherwise. It's not as if Phillip walked into the wrong room.

 

Phillip pushes past Dennis and bites his lip in thought. Disappointment, rather. Perhaps fear; fear is something Phillip is definitely familiar with right about now. Does Brandon regret the kiss completely? After Phillip had taken months to accept it and accept that he himself wants more, wants  _ everything _ . 

 

This isn’t fair.

  
“Uh, Phillip Morgan right?” Dennis’ ratty voice resounds from behind him, but Phillip doesn’t take notice. Brandon is the only thing on his mind. He needs to find him.

 

Phillip tucks his keys into his pocket, and blunders out of the dorm, abandoning his luggage. He leaves without a single word to Dennis who remains in the center of the room with a rather bewildered pout, clammy hands unshaken.

 

* * *

 

Phillip is in the courtyard shoving past younger freshman on their way to orientation, looking around the most obvious places first. He finds the Dean’s window, still shattered, but with added maintenance tape crossing it out in a large X.

 

The school hasn't a clue

 

Along with the sight of the large courtyard oak tree, the memory of the kiss floods back, more vivid than before, and of the adrenaline Phillip had felt right after throwing the rock. It had only intensified the fretful and excited flipping feeling in his stomach. He wishes he could live in that night. The hours of crying and heaving from behind the oak tree out of the sheer shock and confusion of the intimacy would be worth it just for another few seconds of the kiss. 

 

Tiredly, Phillip runs a hand through his hair. He’s become much too desperate much too fast, and far too much of a romantic. This wasn’t the plan at all when he’d first arrived at Somerville the year before. Partaking in romance with another boy hadn’t been the plan either, had never been the plan in his entire life. He’s never considered it, but now it’s the only thing that seems to make sense to him. 

 

* * *

 

Phillip goes to classes the next day. Class, after class, after class Brandon doesn’t show. He doesn’t even show up for lunch, or the classes after lunch. 

 

During his last class, Phillip is so focused on doodling harsh lines in the margins of his notebook, he almost misses the teacher call Brandon’s name for attendance. 

 

“Brandon Shaw.” 

 

Hearing the name from anything other than his own mind is discombobulating. Phillip looks up from his notebook for one electrifying moment, before he hears a familiar voice in the back of the class reply, “Here.”

 

Phillip unintentionally snaps his pencil in half. The whole classroom turns their heads to face him. In any other context, he’d be utterly embarrassed or frightened, but he’s overjoyed. Ecstatic. All he has to do is turn his head.

 

When the class is done gawking at him, he does just that. He turns to see Brandon with a book open, reading stoically as the teacher begins her lesson on mathematics. Phillip stares as long as he can without anyone noticing, but Brandon does not glance up once. 

 

Phillip’s not sure he heard one word of the lesson, and when the bell rings, he pounces up from his seat, and stands in front of Brandon’s desk as Brandon continues casually putting his books and papers away. 

 

“Can’t you take the hint that someone is trying to avoid you?” Brandon asks in a whisper, and Phillip might be stung by those words if he couldn’t hear the underlying pain in Brandon’s tone. Something’s wrong. 

 

“I just want to talk,” Phillip reasons. 

 

Brandon closes his last book, and looks up at him, his eyes as piercing as ever. “Then talk,” he challenges. There are still students bustling around, and chatting all around them, and the professor is only a few feet behind them, erasing the lesson from the chalkboard.

 

“Why are you acting so cruel?” Phillip says. The sentence slips out of his mouth. He meant more  _ crass _ , rather than cruel. This whole situation is causing Phillip to spiral.  _ Brandon  _ is the one who wanted this, he thought.  _ Brandon  _ is the one who kissed him. Had Phillip done something wrong? 

 

Brandon stands, and Phillip had nearly forgotten how he towers so dignified over him. He leans in, and Phillip’s pulse races. “You wouldn’t want to know what my cruelty looks like.”

 

With a coldness Phillip’s not used to seeing, Brandon grabs his bookbag and storms out of the room. Phillip is hot on his heels, and when Brandon realizes this, he groans and spins around in the hall. “Phillip, please — ”

 

“You never kept your promise.” 

 

Brandon blinks, and his lips part. “Excuse me?”

 

“You told me you’d teach me to ride a horse. Eclipse even, that you’d let me visit your farm. That we could do it together,” Phillip says. 

 

For a moment, Brandon seems taken aback, his gaze becomes detached and somewhat reminiscent. He laughs whole-heartedly and it’s the most beautiful sight Phillip has seen in months.

  
“I forgot about that,” Brandon admits. “A lot of things became a blur.”

 

A student pushes by them, knocking Phillip right into Brandon’s chest. The kid yells out, “Stop standing in the middle of the hallway fat-heads!”

 

Phillip backs up, flustered, and moves to the side of the hallway. Brandon follows suit. “Phillip, it was a mistake,” he says under his breath.

 

“The rock through the Dean’s window or the — ”

 

“Shush!” Brandon whispers sharply, hand tightening into a ball, and untightening just as quick. “Don’t  _ say _ it. Someone will hear.”

 

“I just want to know,” Phillip replies. When Brandon doesn’t answer, Phillip swallows and his hands fidget at his sides. “Brandon, if you don’t want _ that _ , it’s alright. I suppose I assumed wrong after what happened, but I want you to be my roommate again. I want to be your friend in the very least. You’re the only person I can talk to here.” 

 

Phillip wants desperately to reach out and put a hand on his chest or take his hand. Something to convince him, but the halls are filled with prying eyes.

 

Brandon looks about ready to break, or give in. Phillip can’t tell, but he’s never seen such a deep vulnerability plague him like this. Phillip wants an answer in the very least. Brandon eventually straightens up, refusing to make eye contact. “I’m sorry, Phillip. I’ll see you in math tomorrow.”

 

He pushes by Phillip, their shoulders brushing, and he disappears down the hall. 

 

Phillip feels the fool. He feels an utter fool for believing something normal or desirable would happen. Not in Phillip’s life. He can’t even keep a friend. This is why Phillip Morgan never  _ trusts _ . Of course he’d been the one to make the mistake; he should have stayed away from Brandon when he’d had the chance. 

 

He continues to stand in the hallway, and then scoffs, bitterness washing over him like a virus. 

 

If Brandon doesn’t want anything to do with him, he can play that game right back. 

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Phillip. Good day?” Dennis asks when he returns to the dorm. Phillip flinches at his new roommate’s nasally voice. After taking a deep breath, Phillip spins around, hoping the animosity he feels shows clearly on his face.

 

“Dennis, I’ll make this as simple as possible for you to understand. Don’t talk to me, because I do  _ not _ want to talk to you. I’m sure that way, we'll coexist just fine for the time being,” Phillip says curtly. 

 

Dennis is taken aback, but he nods. Phillip would feel bad perhaps if he didn’t currently feel so  _ enraged  _ about his entire human existence. Phillip nods back and prepares for bed.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Phillip  _ does  _ see Brandon in the dining hall. He’s sitting at a table with three other boys, but none of them seem to be talking. It doesn’t matter to Phillip. Brandon looks up at him when he sees him walking towards the table. 

 

Phillip pointedly turns his head away in the most irate manner he can muster, a sour expression forming as he refuses to acknowledge Brandon’s presence. He sits at the end of the table. He’s too far for Brandon to start a conversation with him, but close enough so Brandon can witness Phillip’s cold shoulder in its brutal entirety.

 

Phillip’s brought a book, specifically a philosophy book on a subject he knows Brandon is nowhere near reaching in his own private studies. He flips the pages as sharply and as loudly as he can manage. Phillip can sense the entire table has their eyes on him, which means his goal of being obnoxiously loud is succeeding. 

 

He bites into an apple, hard. He doesn’t glance once at Brandon.

 

Phillip has the urge to curse him out and maybe start throwing food, but he pushes it down. He’s always been the master at driving someone up the wall with quiet subtleties and a deeply simmering grudge that harbors just a  _ dash _ of contempt. He’s never lashed out so dramatically that he’d start shouting in the middle of a public space. Nor does he think the situation dire enough for such extremities, as much as he’d like it.

 

He’s not actually reading the book, he’s just pretending for show. There are some mentions of inferiority and superiority, but Phillip skims over those bits. He’s not sure how Brandon could really enjoy this garbage. He tries not to falter when he remembers the endless nights he stayed up past curfew to listen to Brandon ramble on about philosophy, and how wonderful it was just to sit there and listen to his voice and his excitement. 

 

When the lunch bell rings for lunch to end, Phillip sits there until the entire table has evacuated the cafeteria. He finally glances over at where Brandon was sitting, and feels a sense of emptiness and dissatisfaction. 

 

Phillip closes the book. 

 

* * *

 

Years later, Phillip may not be proud of this, but his cold shoulder games end up going on for another three weeks. Three weeks enduring the cold shoulder of Phillip Morgan is utter torture to whomever is subjected to it. It’s his biggest strength and he plays the game well. 

 

The only downside is, while this game usually makes Phillip feel much better about himself, doing this to Brandon is slowly draining him, and each night he goes to sleep, he feels like someone has stepped on his heart multiple times, unrelenting. 

 

It’s hard to breathe. 

 

He is ironically paired up with Brandon for an in-class project during math, and when they get the worksheet, Phillip silently fills it out by himself while Brandon prods him and attempts to help or do  _ something _ . Halfway through filling out the sheet, Brandon gives up trying, and watches Phillip work.

 

Phillip is undeterred, and when he’s finished, he slides the paper over to Brandon and says, “Pass it in.” 

 

Phillip spelled Brandon’s name wrong at the top. Brandon doesn’t say anything.

 

Another time during the third week, Brandon was speaking with Mr. Cadell in the halls of their dormitory, and Mr. Cadell called Phillip over, asking if he was close with Brandon.

  
“Not very, sir,” Phillip had responded. Mr. Cadell had asked because he was questioning Brandon about some crime he suspected he might have committed. He probably  _ had  _ done it. Phillip can’t imagine Brandon giving up his hobby of petty thievery and inconsequential code violations. Mr. Cadell seemed taken aback by Phillip’s response, and Phillip had felt Brandon clearly tense up beside him. 

 

“I thought you two were quite close, from what I saw last year,” Mr. Cadell had said, casting Brandon a strange stare. And Phillip had the strong urge to punch the man’s long face until he sobbed for mercy. 

 

“No.” Phillip had made eye contact with Brandon for the first time in weeks, and his heart almost broke at Brandon’s helpless expression. “We’re not friends.”

 

Mr. Cadell had dismissed Phillip after that.

 

Why look so devastated if he doesn’t want him? 

 

Phillip is on his bed later that night, tossing and turning from Dennis’ nasally sniffles during the night. Why is Brandon completely running his life? Why does he feel the need to constantly gain his attention, and why is Brandon so torn up over the fact Phillip is playing such cruel games? Brandon’s done worse to people far less guilty. Is doing worse to Phillip. Phillip then wonders if Brandon even  _ is  _ guilty, if he’s torturing him for nothing. Phillip falls asleep that night with burdening thoughts of his own insolence. 

 

He wakes up drenched in sweat and regret.

 

* * *

 

 

 

During lunch, and after Phillip’s classic book-and-apple routine, he glances over to find Brandon gone earlier than usual. He hadn’t even noticed him leave. Phillip scoots down the bench to talk to one of the boys Brandon is always sitting with.

 

“Hey, do you know where Brandon Shaw ran off to?” Phillip questions. The boy he’s asking has wide eyes, and he exchanges glances with his friends, as if he never expected Phillip to have a voice of his own. 

 

“I’m unsure, but if you want to speak to him, Philosophy Club is tonight,” the boy responds.

 

Phillip blinks. “Philosophy what?” 

 

“Uh, it’s something Mr. Cadell created,” a redder haired boy replies. “Brandon goes every week, twice a week, as many meetings as there are really. That’s where we met him. But, we stopped going a while ago, it was getting a little strange.”

 

“Is  _ anyone _ welcome?” Phillip questions.

 

All the boys nod, and the first boy pipes up again. “It’s a very small group of kids, I’m sure Mr. Cadell would appreciate some new members.” 

 

Phillip sits back in thought.  _ Philosophy Club. _ That’s right up Brandon’s alley, but at the same time, he can’t imagine Brandon willingly going to converse with other kids or be a part of a community. It would be the last thing to intrigue him. Mr. Cadell must have suggested it. Or the fact that Mr. Cadell is the head of it might have swayed him. The last few months Phillip had spent by Brandon’s side, Mr. Cadell had been an intense force in Brandon’s life. Urging him to do better at school, praising him for personal assignments, and Phillip thinks he even remembers Mr. Cadell asking Brandon if he’d be interested in private Philosophy sessions. Perhaps he’d been speaking of this club.

 

Phillip asks Kenneth and David to accompany him that night. He doesn’t want to come off as desperate, even if he’s been acting out tremendously in the past three weeks. They agree, saying they have nothing better to do, but Phillip thinks they probably feel like they owe him for what happened at the Brent’s party Freshman year. 

 

The philosophy club meetings are held rather late for prep school. 8 o'clock is pushing it for late night activities. They all have early classes, Phillip doesn’t understand why Rupert would even want to hold these club meetings so late. Surely, he has better things to do. 

 

Kenneth and David walk in first, Phillip following like a shadow behind them. The club is held in Rupert’s office, which is mysteriously big for a professor of his caliber. There is even a fireplace, roaring faintly, flames lapping at the brick walls. There are only three kids inside. Brandon, and two other people he doesn’t recognize. When Brandon sees Phillip, his eyes widen.

 

Brandon looks afraid. Terrified.

 

Phillip can’t understand it. Doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. He sits in between Kenneth and David, parallel to where Brandon sits beside the fire. Rupert Cadell merely smiles at the boys’ entrance. “Good to see you three eager for some much needed culture. We can get started if no one else is accompanying you.”

 

“It’s just us,” Kenneth informs. 

 

Rupert Cadell slides on a small pair of spectacles and flips open a book. Something about the air in the room is wrong to Phillip. Perhaps it’s the tension between himself and Brandon, but the way Brandon stares at Rupert flipping through the pages of the book he has out, the way Brandon is fidgeting like a rooster before morning, Phillip knows something is wrong. 

 

This isn’t merely Brandon being uncomfortable by Phillip’s presence. Phillip knows him well enough to know there’s something digging at him from under his skin. 

 

Rupert starts reading. Nietzsche. Brandon seems to relax a little bit, and stares into the fire, absorbing every word. Phillip can tell he’s focusing. Otherwise, he’d be scanning the room, thinking up ways to wreak havoc. Phillip’s unsure he’s ever seen Brandon actually pay attention and behave in someone’s presence. 

 

Phillip is well aware he’s staring, but he doesn’t stop. It’s truly starting to set in they may never be as close as they were freshman year. After today, he thinks he’ll stop bothering him. If Brandon truly wants nothing to do with him, he’ll try and accept it. As much as it hurts. 

 

Rupert has been speaking, but Phillip only now begins to listen. 

 

“All beings so far have created something beyond themselves; and do you want to be the ebb of this great flood and even go back to the beasts rather than overcome man?” Rupert says, and Brandon’s eyes for the first time in weeks trail over to Phillip’s on their own. 

 

Their eyes lock.

 

“What is the ape to man? A laughingstock or a painful embarrassment. And man shall be just that for the overman: a laughingstock or a painful embarrassment.”

 

Phillip’s lips part, forlorn. Brandon stares back dismally, and that’s when Phillip notices the bruises above Brandon’s collarbone where his shirt is unbuttoned only in one place. Brandon stiffens and hugs his knees to his chest, turning slightly away from Phillip as if that would force him to unsee the marks. 

 

“You have made your way from worm to man, and much in you is still worm. Once you were apes, and even now, too, man is more ape than any ape,” Rupert finishes. Phillip licks his lips in thought. When had he acquired the bruises? They are blue-ish purple, signaling that they’re relatively recent by at least a couple days. 

 

“Any thoughts?” Rupert asks the group, sliding a bookmark into the text, and closing it. 

 

Rupert is staring at Brandon who is making eye contact solely with the fire. Kenneth chimes in, to Phillip’s surprise.

 

“Does this guy, Friedrich Nietzsche have a god complex or something?”  he asks.

 

“Well, what do  _ you  _ think?” Mr. Cadell says. So, Cadell is one of those older authoritarian figures who likes to throw questions back at their youthful inquirers instead of being clear.

 

“Sounds like he’s calling everyone a worm,” David says, scratching at the slight blond stubble that’s gathered around his lips. It’s unbecoming. 

  
“Think deeper than the surface,” Mr. Cadell says. 

 

“O-Oh,  _ please _ , R-Rupert,” Brandon says, his stutter more prominent than Phillip’s ever heard it. “You’re reading them an excerpt, not the full picture. Half the people in this room wouldn’t know what you were on about unless you explained for hours.” 

 

“Perhaps not, but they can use critical thinking skills,” Mr. Cadell says with a smile, not entirely genuine. “You’re not the only one who can think.”

 

Brandon swallows and squirms again, adjusting himself beside the fire. Phillip wonders when Brandon had started calling Mr. Cadell ‘Rupert’. 

 

“Let’s talk about the worm, David,” Mr. Cadell says suddenly. David sits up awkwardly, and tunes in as best he can. 

 

“Who in your life would you consider a worm? Or an ape for that matter.”

 

“My father,” David says with a snort, and Kenneth chuckles alongside him. Phillip resists the urge to roll his eyes. He’s almost embarrassed he asked them to this club meeting, but Mr. Cadell seems amused nevertheless.

 

“Why?” he asks. 

 

David shrugs. “He’s a geezer and he’s barely breaching fifty. He doesn’t know what’s going on.”

 

“And you do?” Mr. Cadell propositions. “Do you know what’s going on?”

 

“In relation to what?”

 

“You tell me.”

 

“Rupert, t-this is ridiculous,” Brandon interjects. “He doesn’t know the depth of theory you’re trying to isolate. He’s just one of  _ them _ .” 

 

Phillip twiddles his thumbs, feeling disparate to the conversation in the room.  _ Them _ ? What does Brandon mean by  _ them _ ? Mr. Cadell looks almost  _ annoyed _ .

 

“Brandon, what did I say?” He asks. Brandon pipes down this time, clenching his jaw. He taps his feet together. Phillip is surprised to see he seems hurt. There is something definitely off with him; criticism usually spurs him on. 

 

“I don’t know, Mr. Cadell.” David slumps back down into his previous position, and Mr. Cadell sighs, reopening the book. He flips a few pages. 

 

“Let’s read another passage.”

 

* * *

 

Speaking of Philosophy rather than reading it himself is quite interesting, Phillip mustn't lie. But, he never came to listen to Nietzsche’s views on the human’s capabilities of superiority. He came to see Brandon, to know what’s had his attention so captivated. To see if there is anyway they can get back to where they left off. Or if Brandon will refuse him all together.

 

After an hour has passed, Mr. Cadell closes the book he’s holding for the last time. He gives everyone a polite, parting farewell, and opens the door to usher everyone out. He does this quickly, like he's got somewhere to be. Brandon stays seated, and Phillip can see him hug his legs tighter to his chest, still transfixed on the fire.

 

Phillip is reluctant to leave without Brandon. He’d hoped to speak with him, but it seems he's staying to talk to Mr. Cadell about something, because once Phillip is outside, Rupert gives a curt smile and shuts his office door.

 

Phillip can hear it lock. 

 

He can’t hear their voices, or anything else for that matter. It’s about nine at night, but Phillip doesn’t want to go back to his dorm without some finality. He refuses.

 

It’s cold outside; it is autumn after all. Autumn at nighttime. Mr. Cadell’s office just happens to be one of the ones that is set up outside on a strip of other offices. Just a couple yards away from the dormitories. Phillip decides to set himself up on a bench a half a yard away where he can still watch the door, and the light flickering behind the curtains of Mr. Cadell’s office window. With every minute that passes, Phillip tells himself they should be ending their conversation soon. Perhaps Mr. Cadell is scolding him for his rude behavior towards David. Phillip’s never known Brandon to take any professor’s reprimands seriously, and again he reminds himself  _ this shouldn’t take much longer.  _

 

It takes a little over a half an hour.

 

Phillip at this point is pacing to keep warm, and when the door opens, he nearly falls over in relief. He can barely see Mr. Cadell waving Brandon off, but he can see Brandon stumbling out, alone, gripping a book bag at his side. He’s adjusting his shirt collar with his other hand. 

 

“Brandon!” Phillip shouts, so he doesn’t lose him. He runs over while Brandon is swerving around every which way to see where the voice came from. When he sees Phillip, he goes pale.

 

“Phillip, how long have you been here?” 

 

“I’ve been waiting to speak with you,” Phillip says, and his breath comes out as puffs of white in the cold air. Brandon eyes him from head to toe, calculating his appearance. Phillip would gladly spend another hour out in the cold if it meant Brandon listening to him. 

 

Brandon looks exhausted, and his lips are swollen like he’s been biting them. 

 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says, voice hoarse.

 

Phillip pushes harshly at his arm to rile up some feeling in him. Brandon is standing here with his stamina at zero, barely lifting a brow in Phillip’s direction. He wants to know where the Brandon that waited outside every single one of his classes for him is. The Brandon that kept Phillip up late at night to ask him so many questions, that Phillip was sure Brandon knew more about Phillip than he did about himself. Brandon remains distant, silent. It’s harrowing. 

 

“Of course there is. Brandon, I’m sick of this going on for weeks, I  _ need  _ you to talk to me.” 

 

“Can we take this elsewhere,” Brandon pleads, and he’s glancing back at Mr. Cadell’s office. Phillip grabs his arm this time to keep him focused.

 

“Oh please, he won’t hear. I couldn’t hear what you two were talking about, I tried.” Brandon goes through multitude of emotions in the few seconds Phillip says this, and settles on some form of relief. Phillip continues, regardless.

 

“Just tell me, why you’re avoiding me. I’ll leave you alone if you do. I’ll never…” Phillip chokes up and the words get caught in his throat. This is embarrassing. His voice cracks, “I’ll never bother you again, and you can forget about me.” 

 

Brandon closes his eyes and tilts his head back in thought. Phillip sees the bruise on his collarbone again, and another lighter one on his neck. He resists the urge to reach out and stroke a finger over the purple color of them.

 

“At least tell me what hurt you,” Phillip whispers. Brandon starts, and then follows Philip’s gaze down to his neck. He tugs the scarf he’s wearing around the exposed skin.

 

“It’s nothing. I fell.” 

 

“That’s a lie,” Phillip says. Not because he wants to call Brandon out on his dishonesty, but it’s so blatantly obvious that Phillip might have guessed Brandon would  _ want _ him to recognize it as a lie.

 

“It’s not your business,” Brandon pulls away from Phillip, and makes his way back to the dormitories. Phillip is hot on his heels.

 

“I want it to be,” Phillip says. Brandon laughs dryly.

 

“Really? You haven’t made that clear the past few weeks,” he says.

 

“I was angry!” Phillip retorts. 

 

Brandon swerves around where the rocky trail leading to the dorms and apartments begins and he snaps. “You were contemptuous!” 

 

Phillip stops in his tracks so not to topple over him. Perhaps he’d been a tad cruel with Brandon, but it’s nothing Brandon couldn’t have stopped with just a word or two to him.  _ Some _ explanation. 

 

“And you’re not fair!” Phillip cries back. He runs a shaky hand through his hair, which is curly and out of place. “You can’t just treat me like the rest of them! Normal people. You can’t force me into your life and then force me out, I’m a human being, not an object!” He’s practically shouting, and Brandon is looking around for witnesses. 

 

“My roommate won’t be in my room this weekend, can we please talk there?” Brandon begs. Phillip knows he’s right. As much as he wants to keep shouting at him in the cold open air, if someone were to hear something the wrong way, they’d both be in deep water. 

 

Phillip begrudgingly follows Brandon to his room. He quickens his pace up the stairs, surprised to find that Brandon has been one floor above him this entire time. He hadn’t gone far at all. 

 

Brandon opens his door with a key and he locks the door again when they’re both inside. He rushes over to the windows to lower the shades. The room is pitch black.

 

“Looks like we’re staging a murder,” Phillip scoffs. 

 

“It’d be better to talk privately,” Brandon says as he lights a lantern on his bureau with a match from his pocket. Phillip removes his own scarf and places it on Brandon’s desk. Brandon does the same, shucking off his winter coat as well to throw on the end of his bed. Phillip notices bruises around his wrists as well, as if someone had held him down.

 

“Brandon, what  _ happened _ _ — _ ”

 

“I can’t tell you,” Brandon says, shoving his hands in his pockets. It’s as if he’s forgotten he has bruises scattered all over his skin. These bruises around his wrists are more yellow, older. 

 

“Why not? I thought we were friends,” Phillip says. He takes a step forward, and Brandon takes a step back. 

 

“We ar- _ were. _ ” Brandon stumbles over his words. His gaze is averted. 

 

“What happened to you? It’s as if all of a sudden, you’re a different person,” Phillip begins. “Several months ago when you wanted to convince me of something you’d look me straight in the eyes and tell me how you felt. It would be impossible not to speak honestly and openly. That’s what I liked. You’re acting a nervous wreck now, acting as if I were walking poison. As if  _ anyone _ were.”

 

Brandon moves his hands around in his pockets and then brings out a stray cigarette he lights with a match. “Don’t be so dramatic.” 

 

“Dramatic.” Phillip scoffs. “ _ You _ kissed _ me _ .” 

 

Brandon coughs on a puff of smoke. Neither have them have spoken directly of the incident. It’s almost as if it existed in a dream. But, Phillip needs the dream to be over. He wants to focus on reality. Silently, he watches Brandon struggle to formulate a thought.

 

“I did,” Brandon eventually says. He turns to face the window, unable to see through the shades. Phillip groans and spins around in a circle.

 

“Did you regret it?”

 

Brandon is silent.

 

“ _ Did you?! _ ”

 

“No,” he says quietly. Phillip half expected him to say yes. 

 

“Tell me why you won’t speak to me,” Phillip pleads. He feels like he’s talking to a brick wall. A brick wall that he very much wants to kiss again, but is just out of reach.

 

“You couldn’t understand.”

 

“I’m sick of hearing that!” Phillip clamors. He’s done his part. He’s waited. He’s tried to give Brandon space, but none of this makes sense. If Brandon never regretted the kiss, what is the reason for switching rooms? Why does he want to avoid Phillip after months of friendship, after what they’ve shared together? “Why do you still not trust me? I proved my worth didn’t I? Why is it you think I’m too fragile to understand anything. I’m young, but we’re both young. Both naive, it isn’t just me.” 

 

“Oh, Phillip. You’re not naive,” Brandon muses, and blows a long puff of smoke out towards the ceiling. “You’re perfect.” 

 

“Excuse me?” Phillip asks.

 

Brandon finally turns around, and his eyes are red with exhaustion. “You’re perfect,” he repeats. Simply. Not an ounce of condescension on his face. For some reason, he means it.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“What I mean is that I’m  _ not _ perfect, and if I’m in your life, I’m going to ruin yours,” Brandon says. Phillip can’t believe his ears. 

 

“That’s not your decision to make.”

 

“But, I made it.” 

 

“ _ Brandon _ ,” Phillip presses, but Brandon is climbing up on his bed to rest his head against the wall. “This is too sudden to make any sense.”

 

Brandon glances over at him, too tired to focus his gaze. “You only threw that rock through the window to please me.  _ I  _ did that to you.”

 

“I did it because I wanted to,” Phillip says.

 

Brandon laughs. “You wanted to, because you wanted to be my equal.” He points at Phillip. “Your words.”

 

“So?” Phillip says. Brandon looks confused, and Phillip continues. “I wanted to throw it, because I wanted you to treat me as your equal. Doesn’t mean you corrupted me. I’ve always had the ability to go against the rules. I’ve just never had a reason. Your reason is fun, some philosophical mind game I suppose, and my reason is  _ you _ . I don’t see the issue.” 

 

Brandon is staring at Phillip, unsure how to refute this. He wants to desperately. Phillip holds the upper hand, and cautiously, he slips off his own winter coat, placing it atop Brandon’s. He climbs up next to him so they can speak closely.

 

He’d almost forgotten how in close proximity, Brandon makes his heart race.

 

“If you really don’t want me, Brandon, I’ll leave. But, if you do want me and are trying to push me away without good reason, I won’t allow it,” Phillip says softly.

 

After a few beats of silence, and a chuckle, Brandon says, “You won’t allow it?”

 

Phillip smiles. “I won’t.” 

 

“There’s another reason,” Brandon says so quietly Phillip isn’t sure he's heard him right.

 

“Hm?”

 

Brandon’s eyes are glazed over, and he seems lost in thought. “You don’t know me as well as you might think you do. There is something else, Phillip. As much,” Brandon swallows, and tries to calm his stuttering, “as much as I want you, I can’t have you.” 

 

“Why?” Phillip asks. Brandon is talking like a victorian woman, restrained by her family and their social expectations. Talking of romance as if it were some delicate, costly, vase passed down from generation to generation.

 

Brandon scratches at his bottom lip, and then his neck. His nervous ticks. Phillip remembers them well, and that’s when Phillip’s attention is brought back to the various bruises. 

 

_ Oh _ . 

 

Phillip doesn’t know much about how romance works, but he does know romance isn’t always gentle. Suddenly, he feels bile crawl its way up his throat. The thought of someone else with Brandon in the way he’s desired for months, the thought of Brandon thinking someone else worthy enough to touch him in the way Phillip’s dreamed. 

 

“There’s someone else?” Phillip mutters. He takes Brandon’s elongated silence as a yes, and he hops up and off the bed, pacing incessantly, as a way to escape the nausea slowly building. He’s panicking, and he feels like his body is on fire.

 

Out of all the reasons, he hadn’t expected this. When had this happened? Were they together when Brandon kissed him? Did they become an item during the summer, and Brandon decided she, or  _ he _ , was a better kisser than Phillip? Had he fallen in love? What was their name? Do they go to Somerville? Why’d they leave such prominent bruises on Brandon’s skin? 

 

He doesn’t realize he’s practically choking on air until Brandon’s hand is on his back, and he’s’ leading him back to the bed. 

 

“Calm down, please, Phillip.” 

 

“Don’t touch me!” Phillip shouts. He pushes Brandon away with both hands. Somewhere in his subconscious mind, he’s surprised at his own in-the-moment ferocity.

 

“When?!” Phillip barks out. “When did this start?”

 

“Before I kissed you,” Brandon admits. His jaw clenches, and he looks like a dog whose tail had just been stepped on. 

 

Phillip doesn’t know if this is better or worse. He grips the wooden peg at the end of Brandon’s bed for support. “Do you love them?” 

 

Brandon stares for a few seconds, before his lips are forming into a smug grin. “Oh, Phillip, it’s not like that.”

 

“Not like what?!”

 

“We’re not—It’s not the textbook definition of a relationship.” 

 

Phillip is going to pass out. He’s sick of Brandon being cryptic. Nothing has made sense in the past three weeks, and he’s just asking for  _ some _ clarity. 

 

“Who is it?” Phillip finally asks, defeated.

 

“Rupert Cadell,” Brandon replies simply, smug expression still very prevalent. 

 

The world seems to stop. Phillip’s heart stops, and the thoughts in his head turn to static. He can’t think, and for a whole minute he stares at Brandon in shock, in confusion, until it all starts to set in. Puzzle pieces start fitting together, and Phillip can’t feel more  _ sick _ . 

 

“Brandon,” Phillip whispers, but Brandon is already jumping into one of his spiels. 

 

“I was never sure how to bring it up to you, Phillip. Like I said, I wasn’t sure how you’d understand. He chose me, I’m his brightest student. He considers me an overman, just as Friedrich Nietzsche defines. Phillip, it’s brilliant—” He moves closer to Phillip who is staring at him in shock still, sluggishly registering everything Brandon is saying.

 

“He’s taught me so much, philosophy and otherwise. Phillip, he told me I couldn’t tell anyone. Because no one is an overman like us, he said. No one is on a high enough level of intelligence to understand. But, Phillip, I know you’re an equal to me. I always have, you never had to prove it.” Brandon trails off when he realizes Phillip’s expression is one of dread. “Things are just  _ complicated _ right now.”

 

“Is he hurting you?” Phillip asks, voice weak.

 

Brandon tenses again, and his eyes glaze over in that new disconnected way. “Not  _ hurting _ . It’s nothing I don’t want. Or that I don’t consent to.”

  
“Oh, Brandon,” Phillip says quietly, and he can feel tears welling up. He’d been completely off track. Entirely. Why didn’t he see this sooner? Why didn’t he say anything when Brandon disappeared to his first “private” session and came back giddier than a toddler on his first bike? Oh god, he really  _ is  _ going to be sick. 

 

He puts a sleeve to his mouth and closes his eyes to chase away the feelings of nausea again. 

 

“You’re fifteen,” Phillip whispers, the words sliding out of his mouth like butter. He isn’t sure what else to do in this situation. Brandon’s been brainwashed to believe this is okay, there’s no doubt he’s thought of the age gap before, and the  _ underage  _ aspect of what he’s doing. 

 

Brandon blinks a few times and then clears his throat. “As a superior, age is merely a number. I am on the same intellectual wavelength of Rupert. Rupert said that’s all that matters”

 

“He said that,” Phillip echoes. His mouth feels dry. He can’t report this; Brandon may be indicted as well for all he knows. And Brandon may  _ hate _ him forever if he reports this. He doesn’t know what to do. This is hideous by every sense of the word.

 

“Do you love him?” Phillip asks. Brandon falters.

 

“No.” 

 

That’s a relief, and Phillip feels alright for just a few moments, before he asks another question.

 

“Why did you kiss me?” Phillip asks, and he’s staring at the wood floor. Brandon has a sharp intake of breath.

 

“Because I’m in love with  _ you _ , Phillip.” 

 

Phillip can't even revel in the admission, not right now. 

 

“But, you and Rupert—”

 

“Were already experimenting with our mutual superiority,” Brandon finishes Phillip’s sentence. Phillip despises how he words it. 

 

“Brandon, I love you too.” Brandon doesn’t respond, but Phillip continues.

 

“Which is why you need to end this.” 

 

“I-I can’t end it,” Brandon says, low. Phillip walks over to where Brandon is standing now. If he has to muster up the courage to get through to him, he will. He takes Brandon’s hands in his own. 

 

“Look at these,” Phillip whispers, thumbs skating lightly over the yellowish bruises that wrap circles around Brandon’s wrists. Brandon reluctantly looks down.

 

“He’s just a bit strong, that’s all.” 

 

“He’s using you like you’re a toy,” Phillip says, and doesn’t let go of Brandon’s hands. “Brandon, intimacy should have nothing to do with superiority or inferiority, or the overman.”

 

“But intimacy has everything to do with human experience Phillip,” Brandon whispers, eyes glistening. “And human experience has everything to do with Nietzsche.”

 

“He’s using you,” Phillip starts. Brandon tugs his wrists free, full of sudden rage.

 

“This is why I didn’t tell you, Phillip. I knew you’d get all  _ squeamish _ . You can't wrap your little virgin brain around the fact that I’ve had more experience in my life time than any man has in thirty years of his own. I am superior to anyone Rupert’s age! That’s why he chose me, he can’t find intellect like mine anywhere else. Surely you understand what that means to me, Phillip.” Brandon is running a hand through his hair. Sweat beads above his brow. 

 

Phillip’s drawn him into a corner, so close he can’t claw his way out.

 

“You kissed me for a reason, Brandon. You said you love me, why am I not enough?”

 

“You are enough!” Brandon retorts, and his hands are shaking. 

 

“End things with Rupert, not the club, not the teachings if you don’t want to. But, I don’t want to watch you destroy yourself. One day you’re going to look back at this through a lense so different you won’t know what hit you,” Phillip says. 

 

“I can’t!” Brandon shouts.

 

“Why not?!”

 

“I’m scared!” Brandon’s voice cracks. He curses under his breath and breathes in a heavy puff of smoke from his cigarette before letting it travel languidly from his lips to the ceiling. 

 

Alright. Phillip understands. 

 

“Overmen aren’t scared, Brandon.”

 

“Screw you.”

 

“ _ Brandon _ ,” Phillip says, “It’s hurting you, not just physically. Like it or not, I know you well enough to know you’ve been changing. Not for the better.”

 

“When he first touched me, I didn’t want it,” Brandon admits suddenly. Phillip freezes, gauges the admission, and makes the choice to stay silent and let Brandon talk. Brandon continues, stuttering through every sentence.

 

“We were reading  _ Thus Spoke Zarathustra _ , and he leaned in out of nowhere and kissed me, and put his hands on me. I couldn’t do much in the way of saying no, he was adamant about what he was doing. At first I was terrified, but he taught me I didn’t have to be. I’d never had anyone touch me, Phillip. And he’s a superior human being, it makes sense to allow him to do what he deems fit. It began happening after every club meeting, during every private session. It’s what you do isn’t it? With someone you respect? I assume so, everything he did he explained off so simply and so eloquently. Then told me it was our secret. Since it was special, only things overmen did together. If I didn’t comply, I would not have been superior, would I? But, Phillip, I fear it. As much as I enjoy it at times, I don’t know how to stop it. It’s suffocating, but it’s necessary, and I can’t expect you to understand, I didn’t know how to explain it, all these weeks. When I kissed you, I did so because I wanted to, because I love you, because you mean more to me than anyone ever has, more than Rupert ever has. I thought that made me inferior, I thought I was betraying Rupert, and I thought I was betraying you. Phillip, I can’t see left to right anymore, I can’t differentiate between my thoughts and my feelings, and I’m too damn scared to do anything. Admitting as much is slowly deteriorating me, bit by bit. I could never admit this fear to Rupert, but I can to you. I think that’s how I know I love you, I don’t mind if you see the fear. I don't think I've ever been afraid before.”

 

Phillip wants very badly to hold Brandon. He wants very badly to kill Rupert. 

 

“How about this,” Phillip starts soft after a few beats of silence, “I help you slowly distance yourself from these private lessons. We can be in this together.”

 

Brandon looks at him and their eyes connect. Phillip loves him.  _ Hell _ , he loves him. 

 

“I refuse to be lesser than anyone,” Brandon states as a matter of fact. “If I stop giving Rupert what he wants, I don't know what will happen.”

 

Phillip takes a step forward, carefully taking one of Brandon’s hands in his own again, and intertwining their fingers. “You won’t be inferior, Brandon. You’re more superior than anyone I’ve ever known. If Rupert had never come into your life, you would have figured that out on your own, eventually. I can tell you as much, just knowing you. If you truly know you're superior, you are. You don't need Rupert to tell you that. You don't need anyone to tell you that. You’re better than all of them. Worms and apes, alike.” 

 

Brandon’s eyes widen a fraction, and his eyes are dark. He leans in.

 

The kiss is slower this time. There isn’t a mad rush to run away from a blaring alarm, or the shock of a first time. When Brandon kisses him, Phillip is ready. He grips the fabric of Brandon’s shirt with one hand, and his shoulder with the other. He suppresses every little noise and involuntary twitch of his body to maintain some semblance of control, or dignity.

 

“Say I’m superior again,” Brandon whispers against Phillip’s lips, and Phillip feels lightheaded. 

 

“You’re superior.” 

 

“Say  _ we’re  _ superior,” Brandon drags Phillip into him for a firmer kiss, prodding his tongue against his lips so Phillip is forced to open his mouth. He nearly chokes out of shock when Brandon’s tongue slips in. Everything is too hot, and close, and Phillip is afraid he’s going to collapse.

 

“We’re superior,” he says in a mousy voice when Brandon pulls away to breathe before diving back in. Brandon’s hands slide down to Phillip’s hips, keeping his body close to his own. 

 

“Stay here tonight,” Brandon pleads after he pulls back. “I promise my roommate won’t show, he’s at his family’s estate.” 

 

Phillip’s quite sure his face is red and blotchy, and that his hair is sticking to his forehead, but he nods frantically. Brandon pulls him in for a hug, and he’s so big he wraps around Phillip entirely, like wrapping paper. Phillip takes a moment to revel in the fact he has Brandon in his arms, that this is not a dream, and Brandon is in love with him. 

 

Brandon is exhausted and they strip down to lighter layers of clothing before climbing into bed. They face each other and Brandon runs a hand down Phillip’s cheek, and Phillip thinks they both end up drifting off watching the other with a wondrous gaze. 

 

Phillip does  _ not _ think of Rupert Cadell. Nor does he think about anything other than Brandon Shaw. He doesn’t care what society might think of their relationship, they  _ are  _ superior after all. Phillip might not be as completely invested in that concept as much as Brandon, but they must be on some level of higher social class if they’ve been able to find each other in this world. They fit together like two puzzle pieces, and Phillip thanks the universe Brandon did not manage to slip through his fingers. 

 

Phillip dreams of strangling Rupert Cadell.

 

* * *

 

Phillip wakes up the next morning, and panic sets in. It takes him a moment to remember Brandon’s roommate is not coming back until Sunday, and that he’s perfectly welcome in Brandon’s bed. He’s definitely welcome; Brandon’s arm is draped over Phillip’s chest and one of his long legs is curled around Phillip’s. 

 

Needless to say, Phillip is ecstatic. Tensions were high last night, but morning is leaving him with a cloudy feeling in his head that’s telling him he mustn't worry about the long road ahead.

 

He turns his head slightly to watch Brandon sleep. He’s as beautiful and as seamless as Michelangelo's David. Months prior, Phillip would have never guessed he’d be in the same bed as another boy, or that he’d want to be in one. It fits so perfectly into his life, he feels he’s gained a missing piece of himself he never knew was lost.

 

Brandon stirs, and Phillip feels Brandon’s grip tightens over the expanse of Phillip’s ribcage, over his undershirt. His blue eyes flicker open, bluer from the sunlight shining through the cracks in the shades. He’s only momentarily confused before he yawns, smiles, and leans forward to kiss Phillip, who complies but then pushes Brandon away.

 

“Brush your teeth.”

 

“You first.”

 

Phillip raises his eyebrows playfully, and his hand travels down to Brandon’s stomach, digging his knuckles in. Brandon squirms and swats at him.

 

“I’m not letting you back in my room, or my bed,” Brandon says between laughs. 

 

Phillip sits up and stretches his arms, his neck, and then his back. Brandon is lying down still, arms behind his head. “It’s a Saturday, would you like to do something special to celebrate our mutual accomplishment of being the most superior men on campus?”

 

“We’re  _ barely _ men,” Phillip says, and rubs a hand over his own chin. He's unsure he'll ever be able to grow a beard. Not that he wants one. Brandon waggles his eyebrows.

 

Phillip was thinking they would start on the plan they’d agreed on the previous night, but he’d forgotten it was Saturday. The professors are home for the weekend, there are no classes; they can’t even get started on room reassignment without the housing department available. Yes, he supposes they should do something that doesn't cause an aching amount of stress.

 

“Have something in mind?” Phillip asks.

 

“We could go to the pictures,” Brandon suggests. 

 

“I’ll have to get dressed, and shower,” Phillip notes, because it’s not a good thing he can’t remember the last time he actually showered.

 

“I need to shower too,” Brandon says without thinking, and Phillip knows he doesn't mean it as an invitation, but it sounds like one. Brandon realizes his mistake as well. Phillip’s cheeks turn red.

 

“Um, I’ll go shower, you figure out the bus schedule, and we’ll, um—”

 

“Swap,” Brandon finishes for him. 

 

Phillip nods, and gets up in a hurry, buttoning up his shirt and tossing his scarf and coat over his shoulder. There's a strong sense of Deja Vu; he's taken the place of the men that hurry out of his mother's boudoir, frantically buttoning up their shirts, disappearing out the front door before the clock hits five am.  The only difference is they hadn’t done anything scandalous at all. 

 

“Meet back here at ten?” Brandon asks. Phillip nods, still flustered, and he scurries out of Brandon’s room.

 

Stalking down the stairs, on the lookout for anyone who might of seen him come out of Brandon’s dorm, he realizes Monday can’t come any sooner. He’ll finally be able to get rid of his roommate Derek. Or perhaps it’s Dennis. Phillip can’t remember.

 

* * *

 

The bus ride takes a mere ten minutes to reach the city, and Brandon and Phillip goggle at each other between glances the entire trip. Any passerby wouldn't notice a thing, but to Brandon and Phillip, this is treading the waters. Their little secret. It gives Phillip a thrill.

 

Brandon has the habit of walking ahead of Phillip as they roam the city. If he sees something that excites him, he darts forward like a hare on the run, and points and grins. Phillip strolls behind him at a steady pace, merely happy just to watch him and know that he wants Phillip here with him. The last few weeks have been stressful, on both their parts. 

 

When Brandon is observing a baker coat strawberries in white chocolate through a smudged shop window, Phillip watches him pensively. He doesn’t know how Monday will come, or how Brandon will truly find his way out of Rupert’s firm hold. Last night had been a blind rush of fervor and despondency, leaving Phillip confused in the wake of the aftermath. 

 

He wonders if Brandon will even listen to a word he says on the matter on Monday. Pretend their conversation never happened, act the fool.

 

Brandon now slings an arm around his neck, smiles bright in his face, and drags him along between a sea of nameless people. 

 

Phillip feels a lot about things he doesn’t understand. There is a ball in his stomach slowly unraveling; the enmity for which he feels when he goes over in his head the relationship between Rupert Cadell and Brandon Shaw.

 

Rupert Cadell in his government, found a way to lay his hands on a boy not meant for him, not meant for anyone other than Phillip Morgan, Phillip’s positive. It’s not an average situation, Phillip can’t discern the revulsion between his pure, personal, jealousy and the detestation he feels for the unfair advantages used over Brandon’s juvenile nature. 

 

Phillip shrugs Brandon’s arm off of him when Brandon’s warm breath lingers too closely to the sensitive spot beneath his ear. Brandon doesn’t seem to mind, he shoves his hands in his pockets, and begins to walk backwards when he sees people begin to dissipate from the expanse of sidewalk they’re headed down. 

 

“On your left,” Phillip says purposefully late as Brandon rams into a trash bin he hadn’t seen. Brandon makes a face, but starts walking normally again, beside Phillip. 

 

When they get to the theater, they stand there for a good ten minutes just trying to figure out which film to see. 

 

“Is there really nothing with Cary Grant?” Brandon asks. He’s clearly miffed. 

 

“Is there really nothing  _ good, _ is the question. Cinema has gone on a downward spiral lately,” Phillip replies.

 

“Alfred Hitchcock is always up my alley. What about  _ The Lady Vanishes? _ ” 

 

“Brandon, that comes out in November. It’s September.” 

 

“They shouldn’t advertise so early then,” Brandon grumbles. Waspish, and jittery, he digs around for a cigarette in his coat pocket. “Where the hell did I put them?” 

 

“You’re going to have to get rid of it before we go in, anyhow,” Phillip reminds. He squints harder at the text above the theater. “What about  _ Boys Town _ ?”

 

Brandon finally locates a cigarette, and it’s in his mouth and lit already when he says, “Don’t worry I’ll be finished by the time we’re ready. What’s it about?”

  
“I haven’t the slightest.”

 

Tapping his foot for a few beats, Brandon finally nods, and they move to the ticket booth. 

 

The picture isn’t what Phillip had been expecting when he’d heard the title  _ Boy’s Town _ , and if he’s being honest, it’s a little disappointing. What isn’t disappointing is the fact they’re the only ones in the back row, and Brandon gifts him with discreet displays of affection sporadically throughout the film. 

 

One, being a kiss to to the neck when the music was particularly loud, another when Brandon decided to hold Phillip’s hand in his for four minutes and thirty seven seconds (Phillip counted). The third time, Brandon kissed his neck again, and kissed for too long with a hand sliding just an inch above Phillip’s knee. In a heightened moment from fear of getting caught, Phillip ended up kicking Brandon so hard in the shin he made a strangled noise that caused two older women to shush them. Brandon didn’t touch him again during the movie after that, but he did lean into him with his shoulder. 

 

After the movie, Phillip is amused to note he’s been more successful romantically than half the girls his age, most likely. 

 

The sky is orange. It’s dinner time, whenever that is.  

 

He thinks they might stop some place to eat in the city, but Brandon surprises him by leaning in to whisper. “I want to go back to my room so I can have you to myself for the rest of the day.” 

 

Phillip wants to argue, to add that they have all the time in the world, but he supposes they’re just starting out with this oddly timed relationship. The foundations of which were rocky, but Phillip feels no concern for the future. For Brandon as a person, he very much feels concern. Phillip will do what Brandon wants; it’s not as if he wants anything in particular as of the moment. He just wants Brandon, and he’s got Brandon. 

 

When they return to Brandon’s vacant dorm room, Brandon says, “You were right, you know.”

 

“About what this time?” Phillip responds, trying not to smirk as he removes his scarf and coat. Brandon strolls over and hops up on his bed and waits for Phillip to follow suit. 

 

“I told you I’d teach you how to ride a horse, and I almost broke that promise.”

 

Phillip swallows. “I understand the circumstances now, Brandon. You never need to apologize for—”

 

“You should come to the farm, this winter,” Brandon interrupts. Phillip can tell bringing up the issues at hand might prove futile in the future, but for now he focuses on the moment.

  
“Are you sure your mother is alright with me being there? Have you brought friends over before?” Phillip asks. 

 

Brandon’s eyes do something strange and he shakes his head. “Never.”

 

“Not once? Even during elementary?” Phillip realizes then he maybe shouldn’t have prodded because Brandon gives a carefully concocted laugh and replies.

 

“I didn’t really make friends.” 

 

“But, you’re so…” Phillip nudges him, “Charming.”

 

For the first time he’s known him, Brandon seems sheepish. 

 

“I know how to talk to people, and I know how to act in crowds. I just never really connected with anyone on the level I’ve connected with you. I wasn’t ordinary.”

 

“You shouldn’t be ordinary. Being ordinary is the worst thing you can be,” Phillip says. “Trust me, I’ve learned that the hard way.” 

 

“How do you mean?” Brandon questions, and he’s looking at him now, so Phillip takes Brandon’s hand and intertwines their fingers. Brandon’s palm is warm, and his fingertips are cold. Even being allowed to hold his hand is still jarring for Phillip. 

 

“If I were ordinary,” Phillip starts, “I’d probably find it within myself to stalk out the liveliest diners in town to find a girl my age I could picture as my wife. And study law like my father would have wanted me to, if I had a father. Grow up a renowned lawyer, have children, and wake up every morning knowing exactly what the day had in store.” Phillip looks Brandon in the eyes, nearly shocked he’s listening to him so closely. “I may seem prudish to you, but I assure you the most prominent parts of me don’t want to wake up everyday knowing precisely what will happen.”

 

“I feel the same,” Brandon stutters. 

 

“Is that why you do what you do?” Phillip says.

 

“Do what?” Brandon asks, as if he doesn’t know.

 

“Brandon, I could name twenty brands of hats you’ve stolen just in the last semester, in alphabetical order. And that’s hats  _ alone _ ,” Phillip says with a chuckle. 

 

Brandon chuckles back. “I’m merely better than the careless, narrow-minded, people I steal from. I could set a fire and nobody would know it was me. I’m superior.”

 

“That you are,” Phillip responds easily. He doesn’t know how completely this inflates Brandon’s very delicate ego, because he’s being kissed mid-sigh, and now mid-gasp, he’s being pushed onto his back on the bed. He can feel his face turning red, cheeks on fire, as Brandon’s body completely covers his. If they continue like this Phillip is going to have a major issue, an issue he can already feel stirring. Out of nowhere, Brandon reaches a hand down, and firmly squeezes at Phillip’s upper thigh in which Phillip responds with a squeal and a potent shove that lands Brandon on the other end of the bed. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Brandon says immediately, shocked and panicking. 

 

Phillip is red-faced and panting, feeling exposed. He nods quickly, and doesn’t mean to back up when Brandon comes closer. Brandon is hurt, completely stricken with it.  _ Crap _ . It all happened so fast, Phillip doesn’t know what to say. 

 

“I wasn’t ready for that, I’m sorry, Brandon.” He sounds pathetically puritanical. 

 

“ _ No _ , I assumed. I just, I wasn’t sure, I’m used to, um, I guess I don’t really know how this works . ” Brandon runs a trembling hand through his hair,. Phillip’s never heard him stammer over words in such a frenzy. Brandon’s eyes flicker over the crumpled bed sheets; he’s premeditating the situation and suddenly Phillip begins to understand. 

 

“It’s alright,” Phillip scoots closer. It takes Brandon a few seconds to look up at him. Phillip does his best to crack a smile as he curls a loose strand of hair behind Brandon's ear. “It's alright,” he repeats.

 

Phillip Morgan has never in his life had a sexual encounter with another human being before Brandon Shaw. He’d barely even thought about it before prep school. The few times he ended up with the unfortunate task of needing to take care of himself in the mornings, he’d deal with it with a blank mind, never sure what to think of. He’s young. He never thought about sex in the slightest, barely even when he met Brandon. He thought of kissing and of love, and of  _ holding _ . Phillip very much wants to share everything with him, but they’re on two very different planes of experience.

 

Brandon technically harbors the know-how of this sort of thing. Albeit through means which exacerbated any  _ pure _ experience he could have actually gained. It's made things complicated. It's made things confusing for Brandon, and  _ not so easy _ for Phillip.

 

“Can we take things slow? Everything is a bit complicated right now, and new.” Phillip rubs a thumb over Brandon's knuckles. 

 

Brandon nods. “Of course, Phillip. Anything you want. Slow as a tortoise, if you need.”

 

It's not Brandon's fault. It's Rupert's.

 

Monday can't come sooner.

 

* * *

 

They don't spend Sunday together. Phillip can't even risk sleeping over Saturday night because neither of them know exactly what time Brandon's roommate will return the next day. And Phillip has classwork he's valiantly neglected, Brandon too most likely.

 

They agree to reconvene during lunch on Monday at the big oak tree.

 

It’s hard for Phillip to sleep Saturday and Sunday night. He thinks about Brandon only; he can’t think of school work, or friends, or dreams. Being rid of Rupert is far from being over, and Phillip worries that being rid of Rupert is something that may never come to fruition. 

 

* * *

 

Phillip is under the oak tree the second he’s gathered a tray of food from the cafeteria. It takes Brandon at least twenty minutes to show up, and he looks completely disheveled, and does not have any food. Phillip puts an apple in his hand the second he gets close enough.

 

“Thank you,” he mutters, and takes a small bite. He’s taking deep breaths. “Sorry, I just ran across campus and back.”

 

“What happened?” Phillip asks. He’s sitting against the trunk, staring up at Brandon and he seems so much taller from the ground than he does when Phillip is standing.

 

Brandon scratches under his bottom lip. “You’re not going to want to hear this.”   
  


“Just say it, Brandon.”

 

“According to the head office, Rupert is on leave. As of yesterday. He won’t be back until next week,” Brandon says.

 

Phillip breathes in slowly. “This is good.”

 

“What?”

“One week we won’t have to worry about confrontation or anything of the like,” Phillip says, and smiles supportively up at Brandon who resembles a lost dog. “We can focus on ourselves for the rest of the week, if you want. You and me.”

 

“That’s more than what I want,” Brandon says, taking another bite of the apple. Phillip looks around briefly, but there are no students in sight. He tugs at Brandon’s sleeve, and Brandon sits down beside him against the tree. Their shoulders are pressed together.

 

“Can we…” Phillip swallows and takes a minute to word this properly. He doesn’t know why he’s nervous all of a sudden. It’s not as if Brandon will say no. “Can we at least, ask housing for a room reassignment?”

 

Brandon laughs. “Already done.” 

 

“You did that too? You should have waited for me,” Phillip says, but there is a warmth blossoming in his chest that distracts him from the bark of the tree digging into the nape of his neck. 

 

“I had to come back here with  _ some  _ good news,” Brandon replies, and he carefully puts his hand over Phillip’s. Phillip blushes and draws his hand away.

 

“Even if we can’t see anyone around, there’s bound to be someone watching.”

  
“Let them watch,” Brandon says with a sigh, but he doesn’t make a move to touch Phillip again, and goes limp against the tree, trying to get fully comfortable. 

 

They don’t say much the rest of lunch. Brandon finishes his apple, and Phillip watches the empty courtyard remain empty save for the few red cardinals that find their way into the freshly cut grass, chirping like chatterboxes. 

 

* * *

 

A few days later, Phillip is resting after a long day of classes. Brandon told him he’d be in the library reading, so he decided to take a nap in their room. A quiet Wednesday, nothing much to say about it, until Brandon is shaking him awake with brute force. 

 

Phillip groans and turns to the side but jolts fully awake when he feels a pinch to his cheek. 

 

“What is it?” he snaps, and rubs the side of his face. Brandon grabs him and lifts him up into a sitting position, and Phillip’s eyes focus into view and he sees Brandon is distraught.

 

“What’s wrong?”   
  


“How long have you been asleep?” Brandon asks. His hands are on Phillip’s knees, gripping securely, to keep Phillip’s attention on him.

 

“Since you left,” Phillip says slowly.

 

“It’s seven.”

 

“That long? I must have been tired then,” Phillip makes to move off the bed, but Brandon holds him still. “What?”

 

“Something’s happened,” Brandon says. “I don’t want you to fly off the handle.” 

 

Phillip narrows his eyes. Brandon is practically unreadable. He does his best to move away from Brandon’s tight hold, to no avail, and then he notices Brandon’s neck covered in an orange liquid; it’s stained his white shirt collar too, all the way down to the third button on his white button-up. 

 

“A rumor started,” Brandon says. Phillip feels his throat clench up; it’s hard to breathe. Brandon continues and confirms Phillip’s fears. “A rumor about  _ us _ .”

 

“We’ve done nothing, we’ve barely done anything to even give anyone the…” Phillip reaches out and runs a finger over the sticky-wet part of Brandon’s neck. “Is this juice?”

 

“Orange, yes,” Brandon says with a broken smile. “One of the Brent’s groupies hit me with a carton while I was walking back from the library. I would have gotten into a full scuffle if Mr. Marsden wasn’t nearby.”

 

“Mr. Marsden didn’t do anything when you got hit?” Phillip blurts out. Brandon simply smiles back at him, as if to say,  _ what do you think? _

 

Phillip is furious. Of course it would be one of the Brent’s groupies. “What did he say to you?!”

 

“Nothing I want to repeat, but you were involved,” Brandon says and swallows. “And, I found out who started these rumors.”

 

Brandon finally releases his grip on Phillip and stumbles over to his side of the room, unbuttoning his stained clothing to change into fresh ones. 

 

“Who started them?” Phillip asks.

 

Even with Brandon’s back turned to him, Phillip can hear his laugh, sardonic as ever.

 

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Yes, now tell me before I lose my temper further,” Phillip says sharply, and with a sigh Brandon turns around, in the middle of buttoning up a new navy colored shirt.

 

“David Kentley.” 

 

Phillip is in the process of getting off the bed, and when he hears this, he slips and falls right on his ass on the floor. In his disorientation he doesn’t notice Brandon helping him back up onto his feet, and brushing off the dust from his backside.

 

“David,” he mutters back. “David  _ Kentley _ started these rumors?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Bastard,” Phillip says. “That bastard! Did he think we wouldn’t find out?”

 

“I don’t know  _ what  _ he thinks, honestly,” Brandon says. He’s more subdued about this, perhaps had more time to think on the matter, or perhaps he’s bottling his rage for another time. Phillip however, wants David’s head on a pike. 

 

“I could kill him,” Phillip whispers, incredulous.

 

It’s the first time Brandon actually smiles since he’s woken up. “That would be a very interesting way of dealing with our problem. We could get away with it too, I bet. A little chloroform and blunt force to the head maybe? No one would see it coming.” 

 

Phillip rolls his eyes, but allows Brandon to bump his shoulder playfully. “I’d much rather humiliate him, give him a taste of his own medicine.”

 

“We could you know,” Brandon says. Phillip snorts, and when he sees Brandon is serious, he gives half a smile and bumps his elbow against Brandon’s chest.

 

“What are you suggesting?”

 

“Humiliation, in its finest degree. We can hatch a plan together, work on it, perfect it, make sure nothing leads back to us. He’ll be the laughingstock of campus, even if he were to get into Harvard, his name will be tarnished for years. All at the hands of little old us, the men he shouldn’t have dared touch. The superiors,” Brandon says, and Phillip just now notices how close he is to Phillip. The last few buttons on his navy shirt have been abandoned, and Phillip’s throat feels dry at the sight of his toned chest peaking out of it. 

 

“It shouldn’t be as hard as some of the other crimes you’ve committed,” Phillip says softly, but he’s doubtful. He’s sure it translates into his face, because Brandon kisses him, quick and confident, and strong. Phillip rises up into it, trying hard not to seem caught off-guard. He places a hand over the back of Brandon’s head where he can still feel the stickiness of the juice. Brandon smells like citrus. Phillip gains a strong urge to lick his neck, but buries it out of embarrassment. He’s sure Brandon wouldn’t mind, but it’s a bit too brazen for him to do out of nowhere. Sure enough, he’s forgotten the doubt that’s deeply rooted inside him, and after another small kiss to Phillip’s lips and then his nose, he’s apparently agreed to some huge fiasco that will bring about David Kentley’s downfall.

 

Phillip can’t deny, the possibilities of what they can do excite him to no end. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading this shit show, expect more


	3. 1938/1939

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1.) yes brandon's mother is named after john dall's mother, 2.) yes there is a carrie (stephen king) homage in this chapter

Winter. 1938. 

 

Phillip carefully folds his last shirt into his suitcase. Nothing is jutting out or creating any distracting swells in the leather when he zips it closed. He's packed just enough; everything essential. He won’t have access to many of his own possessions for a while, so he has to make do with this.

 

Winter had rolled around quickly, exams passed, and the first semester came to a close. Brandon had not forgotten his promise to bring Phillip up to the farm house, and kept nagging Phillip about it everyday until Phillip finally called his own mother, asking if it would be okay to spend winter break at the Shaw farm house. 

 

Phillip’s mother was of course overjoyed. He’s not sure if it was because Phillip had made such a close friend, or because she could now spend winter break having her adult socialite parties she adores so much. Either way, Phillip is lucky he has such a lenient mother. 

 

She’ll practically let him go anywhere, do anything, no questions asked. 

 

Lucky for him as well is his mother’s lost sense of curiosity. She’ll never inquire more than a thing or two about Brandon, and he doesn’t lie. Brandon is his friend. 

 

Brandon also happens to be the person Phillip is in love with, but she doesn’t need to know that.  

 

Brandon finishes packing a few minutes after Phillip, and he is buzzing with excitement. His foot taps the floor in a rhythm, and his hands flutter around, unsure what to do when he’s finally done packing everything. 

 

“We ready?” Phillip asks. Brandon grabs his suitcase and drops it to the floor, reaches out a hand. Phillip laughs.

 

“If you think I’m going to hold your hand in the hall, you’re crazy.”

 

Brandon huffs and lowers his hand. “You’re no fun anymore. You helped me set fire to that old abandoned toolshed a month ago, but you won’t indulge in the dangers of hand holding?” Brandon tsks dramatically. 

 

Phillip leans forward to nudge him with his shoulder. “You know why we can’t. David’s rumor’s gone out of control, I was bombarded in the shower just a few days ago.” 

 

“I know, I know. I don’t want you to get soap tossed at you again,” Brandon says. Playfulness gleams in his eyes. “Or do I?” 

 

He reaches over and tries to grab Phillip’s hand and forcefully intertwines their fingers. Phillip swats at him futilely, and gives in after a few seconds.    
  
“It’s not fair you’re so much bigger than me.”

 

Brandon responds with a kiss, chaste, and an added sweet smile. 

 

Phillip blushes. “You  _ are  _ in a state today, aren’t you?”

 

“Oh, Phillip, I’m on cloud seven!” Brandon grips Phillip’s shoulders so tight Phillip feels like a pencil that is close to snapping. “You’re coming to the farm! For a month and a half, no less. It’ll be just you and me when mother goes out to work, and we can do whatever we want.” Brandon smirks, pulls Phillip closer, and speaks softly.” We can drink, we can listen to the radio, we can dance…” Brandon lifts up Phillip’s hand and kisses his knuckles; a poor imitation of a prince. 

 

Phillip averts his gaze with a laugh. He hadn’t thought about that, the fact they’d be alone during the break most of the time. It’s definitely something he  _ needs  _ to think about. Brandon shakes Phillip to gain his attention back.

 

“I can show you my room,” Brandon says. 

 

“I  _ am _ very curious about your room,” Phillip admits. “Do you have the corpses of your victims lined up on hooks on the wall?” 

 

Brandon barks out a laugh.

 

“You wish,” he says finally, hysteria seemingly beginning to subside. Phillip kisses his cheek softly, and adds a final pat to his shoulder.

 

“Come on, time to go. The cab should be here any minute.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

After a long cab ride to the train station, they take an even longer train ride out into Connecticut. They’re in their own train car, one rented out by Brandon’s mother on occasion. Phillip can’t complain; he adores privacy and solitude, and he’s never been much for the conviviality of trains. 

 

There is even a window, and Phillip can see spot the first sighting of farmland. It’s almost like a picture, just miles and miles of wheat and produce rushing by, seeming all the same as the minutes pass.

 

“You should see Iowa,” Brandon muses as if he knows what Phillip is thinking. Phillip glances over to see Brandon lying flat on his back, one knee bent up where the black hem of his white socks almost peek out. 

 

Brandon smiles when he catches Phillip staring. “Don’t let anyone convince you America is anything more than farmland and dollar bills.”

 

“Life’s much more than that,” Phillip responds.

 

“Oh, life, maybe. Not America,” Brandon brings his cigarette to his lips once more. Phillip looks back out the window, surprised to see a gas station fly by out of the blue. 

 

It’s a couple of hours before they reach the farmhouse. It’s the evening, perhaps around five, and Phillip feels woozy and disoriented when he gets his feet on the ground. Being on the train for so long really doesn’t do much for one’s equilibrium. 

 

Fortunately for them, they don’t need to take a cab from the train stop, the farm is close enough to this remote drop-off point, Brandon had said. Remote it is, and silent. Eery, even. No one is around except he and Brandon. And perhaps a prairie dog or two.

 

Phillip notices he’s stepped in some mud, the second they get off a sidewalk and onto some dirt road. “Oh,” is all that he’s able to say. Phillip only just realizes Brandon is wearing boots and he’s wearing something akin to dress shoes. 

 

“I have some boots you can borrow at home, Phillip,” Brandon says, undeterred. Phillip nods, and continues to follow with a suitcase lugging through the dirt behind him.

 

Phillip is a city boy, has always been one. It’s alien to him that things other than avenues and intersections exist. Sure, he’s been to Bryant Park, but it’s nothing compared to feeling like he’s been dropped onto another planet. 

 

He can’t get over the silence. 

 

Brandon seems to have no issues, feet ahead of Phillip, trotting along the dirt like he belongs there. It almost makes Phillip laugh. The irony of Brandon of all people, pristine and proper more than any rich American youth come, a true country boy at his core. It’s startling.

 

In no time, they’re in front of the infamous “Shaw Family Farmhouse.” All of Brandon’s greatest stories are from here, and this is Brandon’s childhood standing tall in front of him in all its glory. And it’s... _ cute _ . Not a word which Phillip would think of to describe Brandon or the concept of him, but his house is out of a Hans Christian Andersen tale. 

 

There are faint sounds coming from behind the house, cows and chickens most likely. The sun is starting to set, and Phillip wonders if the animals become restless at such hours. He doesn’t know much about farms, or animals for that matter. 

 

Brandon grabs Phillip’s suitcase with a grin, and Phillip only just notices Brandon’s bags are already in the house. He’s been darting up and down the porch stairs. Brandon gestures at him to come inside, so Phillip walks up the three or so steps leading to the porch and enters the homiest space he’s ever seen.

 

When the front door shuts behind him, everything settles in.

 

There is a stairway right in the middle of Phillip’s line of view, a kitchen to the right, and a living room to the left. Everything is a little cramped, but for some reason it feels like it would be worse if it were spacious. There are candles scattered everywhere, enough that for half a second, Phillip considers calling the fire brigade. There is a smell he’s unused to. It’s definitely homemade food. 

 

“Is that who I think it is?” A girlish voice calls. It’s hard to believe it’s coming from a full-grown woman until Mrs. Shaw walks in from the kitchen, in a pink checkered dress and apron. Her hair is in a loose blonde bun. She's stunning, just like her son. She scoops Brandon up in a hug, lifting him off the ground, despite her being the size of a beetle beside him. Phillip gawks awkwardly as she kisses all over Brandon's cheeks, bringing him in for a hug once more.

 

“Hey ma,” Brandon says with a warm smile. 

 

Phillip tries to remember the last time his mother hugged him. Before he can retrieve a memory, the life is being squeezed out of him by this feeble woman. “Oh, you must be Phillip. I’ve heard so much about you, dear.” 

 

“Have you?” Phillip shoots a glare at Brandon who is all too amused at the cutoff of Phillip’s airflow. 

 

Brandon’s mother releases him and gifts him a kiss to each cheek. The onslaught of affection is turning Phillip’s face red. He’s never done well with attention. 

 

“Glad to meet you, Mrs. Shaw,” Phillip says when he finally catches his breath. 

 

“Henry, please.”

 

“Henry?” Phillip asks before thinking. “Sorry, I just —”

 

“Can you believe it’s not short for Henrietta? She was just born like that,” Brandon says snidely. Henry slaps her son’s arm, much to Phillip’s delight.

 

“I didn’t raise him right. He’s got a tongue on him that one.”

 

_ He sure does _ , Phillip thinks for an entirely different reason.

 

“I like the name,” Phillip instead says, with a courteous smile. 

 

“You’re right, he’s such a doll,” Henry says to Brandon with a sigh, and reaches up to pinch Phillip’s cheek. Phillip can’t imagine what Brandon might have told his mother to have her consider him a “doll” but he’s starting to understand where Brandon gets his  _ touchy  _ gene from. Henry suddenly perks up. “Cookies just came out of the oven. I made them for you kids. Would you like them now?”

 

_ Cookies _ . Even Phillip can’t find a flaw in Brandon’s mother. Normally he can find  _ something _ he hates about just about anyone.

 

“That’s perfect mother, could you bring them upstairs? We’re going to bring our bags up,” Brandon says. Henry nods and kisses her son on the cheek one more time before dashing back into the kitchen. 

 

A human whirlwind. 

 

Brandon and Phillip struggle with their bags up the stairs and Brandon leads Phillip into his bedroom. Once the light is on, Phillip takes note of the art scattering the walls, much of it figure art of men. Interesting choice, but not surprising. 

  
“I told mother to empty this drawer for you,” Brandon says and opens the bottom drawer of his bureau. 

 

Phillip stumbles over his words. “I’m not going to be in the guest bedroom?” They must have a guest bedroom. They must.

 

“It’s being renovated,” Brandon answers with his signature smirk.

 

“That’s is  _ such  _ a lie, Brandon.”. 

 

Brandon shifts where he’s still kneeling over the empty drawer. “Do you not want to sleep in here with me?”

 

“You know I don’t mind!” Phillip squawks. “It’s just that there’s, well, one bed, and your mother, what will she think?”   
  


Brandon pokes Phillip’s legs with his toes. “We’ve slept in a bed together before.”

  
“I know,” Phillip says, turning his face into his shoulder. There’s really no reason to fight it, he supposes. It just seemed like something they shouldn’t do unless they’re assigned a room together. How did he become so small-minded?

 

“Also, if my mother seems oblivious to you, you’d be right. She has no clue what’s going on half the time. She’ll won’t understand there’s anything peculiar about us in here together,” Brandon says and gestures between them. 

 

“Alright, as long as I’m not suffocating you,” Phillip says softly.  

 

Brandon lets out a fake moan, “Mmm, you can suffocate me anytime you like, Phillip.”

 

“Stop it!” Phillip hisses and kicks him hard enough so he falls off where he’s balacing on his knees. They then hear footsteps in the hall. Then a knock at the door.

 

“Come in, Ma,” Brandon says.

 

Henry bustles in with a tray in her hands; it’s contents are two plates of three cookies each and two glasses of milk. And napkins. How intricate. Phillip wonders how they compare to the store-bought cookies his mother buys in bulk. 

 

“Here you are, lovelies.” She places the tray on the rug, and parts with a hand on Phillip’s shoulder. She’s gone as quick as she came in. Brandon has already popped a cookie into his mouth. Phillip slides to the floor, and does the same.

 

Phillip’s eyes widen when the taste registers. “Holy mackerel.” 

 

“Holy cookie,” Brandon says. 

 

“Your mother is something else, Brandon.” Brandon’s milk is already gone, the last portion of it disappearing down his throat. He nods and reaches for Phillip’s suitcase, and begins unpacking and placing clothes in the empty drawer beside them himself. 

  
“Ma's fantastic. Single mother and all.” 

 

“When did your father leave?” Phillip asks.

 

Brandon hums, and without wavering he responds, “Around the day I was born.” 

 

Phillip wants to say something, anything, but Brandon seems so content with this fact that he decides not to touch it. If Brandon wants to say more on the subject, he will on his own time. Phillip has learned that well.

 

* * *

 

The snacks on the small tray are gone, crumbs and all, and Brandon is digging through the small crevices in Phillip’s suitcase. “Where is it?” He grumbles.

 

“Where’s what?”

 

Brandon frowns at him. “You know what.”

 

Oh. The plans. Phillip reaches into the bottom and feels around under a flap of fabric to reveal a zipper. “Thorough,” Brandon muses, and Phillip unzips it and reaches inside the small compartment to bring out a notebook, half the size of his own head.

 

In its contents, are the complex, months-long, plans for David Kentley’s downfall they’d crafted in the days before winter break. They decided they wouldn’t strike back right away, not right after they found out the rumors were spread by him. They’d wait a while, even see if the rumors of their intimacy would die down, before setting their plan into action. There are still a few minor conditions they need to look over one last time, to make sure everything is perfect. It excites Phillip in a way, more so just to see Brandon in action, in his element. Brandon doesn’t give himself enough credit for his talents or passions. 

 

Brandon flips through the notebook, a smile slowly spreading on face, reaching up to his ears. “Phillip, we are  _ brilliant _ . We’ll start gathering what we need tomorrow.” 

 

“That soon?” Phillip asks.

 

“Yes, this will take quite a bit.” 

 

Phillip nods, tired from travel (and the milk and cookies no doubt). Brandon notices and moves Phillip’s suitcase aside. “I’m going to go say goodnight to my mother, but I’ll be back up in no time.”

 

Nodding again, Phillip watches Brandon drop the notebook on his desk and then disappear down the stairwell just outside his bedroom. Phillip stands to look around. There is one big window beside the bed, cracked open just a bit so the room is not too stuffy. He spots a record player and makes his way over, digging through a collection of records Brandon has laid out under the small table it’s on. Phillip picks out an Ella Fitzgerald record and places it in the slot. 

 

The first song that plays is  _ But Not For Me _ . Phillip’s heard this one. He closes his eyes and listens to the staticy tune for a few moments. The world seems to stop like it did when Phillip was outside the farm and Connecticut’s rural silence had stunned him. Everything still, yet alive.

 

A minute or so later, he feels long arms wrap around his waist, followed by Brandon’s lips kissing his neck. For once, Phillip doesn’t worry if the door is open, if his mother may walk by and see. Phillip leans back into him, resting his head comfortably against Brandon’s shoulder. 

 

The song doesn’t seem to end. 

 

* * *

 

“Brandon, I can't.”

 

“You've got to!”

 

“Why can't  _ you _ do it?!”

 

“ _ Because _ , it's good practice for you!”

 

Brandon holds up the chicken closer to Phillip's face. It stares through him blankly and clucks. Phillip reluctantly reaches out two fingers and plucks the molted feather from the bird. It clucks again and Brandon sets it down, allowing it to roam around the fenced off land.

 

“How do you know when a feather is molted, again?” Phillip dangles the feather he plucked level with his eyes. He can't see the difference between it and a normal feather.

 

“That's for farm experts to know and for you to find out,” Brandon says. Very helpful. He stands back up and brushes off his knees.

 

Phillip drops the feather into their feather bucket. For later.

 

“You're not a magician. No one cares about farm secrets.”

 

Brandon raises a finger. “That's where you're wrong, everyone wants to know farm facts.” Phillip snorts.

 

“Farm facts.”

 

Brandon tugs Phillip towards the barn where the cows are kept. When they're inside and within the pen of the first cow on the right, Brandon turns to Phillip ane says, “Did you know it's painful for a cow to not be milked?”

 

“No,” Phillip responds. “But, to be fair I've really only ever come into contact with pigeons.” 

 

“Would you like to learn how to milk a cow?” 

 

Not particularly, but it's not as if he has any reason to say no. He allows Brandon to guide him through it, teaching him the steps. It's far more complicated than Phillip supposes it should be. Before long his hands are wrapped around a cow's udders. It feels strange, and wrong.

 

“Now you try.”

 

Phillip does, and he does the job right. The cow moos. It's odd, but oddly soothing after he gets the hang of it. Plus, he's doing something good for an animal, there is a small spark of satisfaction in his chest at that. Until he feels Brandon's gaze burning a hole through him.

 

“It's strange with you staring like that,” Phillip says, and stops pumping. 

 

“Just making sure you're doing it right,” Brandon assures, his eyes are still locked on Phillip's hands. 

 

Phillip rolls up his sleeves higher. He's sweating, and feels light-headed from heat despite the fact it's winter. It hasn't snowed once this year. “Brandon, can we take a break? I'm exhausted.”

 

Brandon has moved around to the front of the cow and is stroking above its eyes, it moos in his face. He smiles.

 

“Of course, Phillip.”

 

They take a break by a large tree a few feet away from the farm. The leaves have abandoned its branches, and Phillip can only imagine the beauty of it during autumn. Henry Shaw seems to understand the two of them on telepathic levels, because the second Phillip even thinks about food, she's outside bringing them a basket filled with sandwiches and vegetables.

 

“How's farm work, boys?” 

 

“Phillip's not even a quarter way through and he's exhausted,” Brandon says smugly. Phillip tries not to color in embarrassment.

 

“I can take over the pigs, dear.” Henry kisses Brandon on the head and reminds the two of them to drink enough water to stay hydrated before she departs to the barn. 

 

“How many animals do you maintain?” Phillip asks; he's certain he saw a goat somewhere.

 

“Not many,” Brandon answers. He leans his head back against the tree. “Pigs, horses, sheep, goats, chickens, roosters, and cows. That's about it. Sometimes there’s a stray cat that likes to visit.” 

 

Phillip nearly chokes on his tuna sandwich. That is not “ _ not many _ .”

 

Brandon brightens up all of a sudden, as if he just remembered something. He begins stuttering; Phillip knows he's excited.

 

“P-Phillip finish your food. I have a surprise.” 

 

After lunch, Brandon leads Phillip over to the stable in a rush, which he has to keep reminding him is entirely different from the barn.

 

“This is where we keep the horses,” Brandon notes as they close in on the pristine white structure that almost resembles a barn, but betrays the image in its length.  _ Horses _ . Phillip is beyond exuberant. 

 

“Eclipse?” 

 

Brandon nods, and opens the double doors when they reach the stable. The smell is nearly overpowering, but it's entirely worth it to hear the neighing and huffing of the large majestic creatures Phillip's spent his whole life infatuated with. “Oh my,” he whispers. He knew horses were big but these are huge, muscular creatures with attitudes like humans. 

 

He sees Eclipse instantly, and it feels like a rug’s been pulled from under him. She's beautiful, stands large amongst the others. He can't see her hooves behind the small gate she stands behind but he can imagine the thick tufts of white that contrast with her nearly crimson hide. “Brandon, I'm going to cry,” he whispers when she makes eye contact with him.

 

“Don't!” Brandon shouts with a grin. “Phillip don't be overwhelmed just yet, we're only getting started.” 

 

Phillip lifts up a hand on instinct, and then turns for Brandon's approval. Once he gets a nod, he reaches out to touch above her nostrils; there is a heaviness to her long protruding face that he wasn't expecting. Phillip whispers as if he were in a library. “She's marvelous.”

 

“You ready to ride her?” 

 

Phillip has forgotten that entire aspect of the promise. Seeing a horse in person has shaken him up completely, he's unsure how to respond. “Brandon, I don't know if I can, I've never—”

 

“I'm going to teach you like I told you I would.”

 

“Right.” Phillip feels light-headed. “Alright.”

 

Brandon unlocks the gate Eclipse is held behind and unhooks a large saddle from the wall of the barn. He begins to fasten it around Eclipse's waist. Eclipse makes a few noises of protest, but doesn't make any moves to stop Brandon. Once everything is snug, Brandon reaches over a hand. Phillip takes it reluctantly and is dragged closer. 

 

“Put your left foot here,” Brandon says pointing to the leather flap hanging off the saddle. “Lift yourself up with that leg and swing your right over.”

 

It takes Phillip a few tries. He keeps falling back, his hands shakily gripping at what feels like a slippery saddle, but is most likely just Phillip's nervous clammy hands.

 

Brandon is remarkably patient and even gives a smile magnifying pride when Phillip settles on top of Eclipse. It feels like Phillip is going to tip over sideways and fall off. He grips tight around the horse's bulky neck, hoping he isn't bothering the animal.

 

“Oh reigns, that's right,” Brandon adds and grabs some leather ropes off the wall parallel to the gate. He fasten them around the horse, easily, knowing exactly where everything goes. Brandon is sweating a little bit, above his brow, and his hair is just a little more out of place than it was an hour or two ago. It's more attractive than it should be. 

 

Phillip assumes he'll be riding alone, and barely registers Brandon hopping up behind him. He nearly does topple over despite holding firmly to the reigns when he feels Brandon's entire body pressed up against the back. “This was the biggest saddle I could get,” Brandon whispers to him as if their proximity needs explaining.

 

Brandon reaches around Phillip and under his arms to gain control of the reigns. “I'm just gonna lead her outside so we can get started.” Brandon gives a light kick to her backside, and leads her out into the field. The fields and the barn in the distance seem miniscule on top of a horse, like there are moments in life miles better than keeping your feet on the ground.

 

There is suddenly a field of grass in Phillip’s line of view, endless, a plane of ground and wheat and other earthly elements. Eclipse huffes and shifts underneath him, but all he’s focusing on is Brandon’s arms clamped around his sides, holding tightly to the reigns, and his face barely an inch from Phillip’s.

 

“Walk or run?” Brandon whispers in his ear, so close, and there is nothing inherently erotic about the words but Phillip’s hands begin to tremble and he starts to feel much warmer. 

 

“I don’t know,” Phillip mutters.

 

Brandon leans back, as much as he can on the saddle on scoffs once. “Hold on as tight as you can,” he says, even while he’s wrapping one arm around Phillip’s middle to keep him secure. 

 

Brandon must have kicked Eclipse much harder than before, because before Phillip can even take a breath, she’s galloping faster than he’s sure light travels. The wind whips across Phillip’s face, burning his eyes, and he would topple over if it wasn’t for Brandon’s hand gripping him around the waist strong enough to bruise. Phillip’s arms are circling the horse’s neck, and he yelps and circles tighter as Brandon pulls the reins and Eclipse throws her front hooves in the air and slows down, stopping after a few seconds of trotting.

 

Phillip is breathing like he just ran a marathon. He feels a hand in his hair smoothing it down. Brandon leans it to kiss Phillip’s jaw, giving a smirk at Phillip doing his best to move away from his lips in the small space they’re seated on.

 

“Stop that, your mother will see.”

 

“We’re nowhere near the farm, Phillip.” Brandon points into the distance, and the farm is practically a speck of color. They really did go far. 

 

“Oh,” Phillip whispers. “That truly was something else.”

 

“She can go faster, believe it or not. But I think you should try yourself.” 

 

“At that speed?!” Phillip blurts out. 

 

Brandon barks out a laugh. “Of course not, see if you can get her to walk a little.”

 

Phillip grips the reins nervously. Brandon’s hand rest lightly on his thighs, and that distraction alone makes it so he can’t think of a single thing Brandon did to get her to move. 

 

Awkwardly, Phillip lightly taps the side of Eclipse. She begins to move and it jostles him slightly, almost more than the running. 

 

“I feel like a cowboy.” Phillip turns his head slightly to speak, but Brandon hears him just fine. 

 

“I wish I could give you a lasso, but all the rope is back in the barn.”

 

“Maybe another time,” Phillip says, amused. 

 

They ride for a while, and Phillip finally understands the beauty of the country, despite the mud and the humidity, and the way the grass stains his clothes. Up on top of a horse is the perfect place to be; he feels like an ancestor who roamed fields and mountains on horseback, never worrying about having to work for a living in an urban factory or a business-run skyscraper.

 

“Let’s stop here.” Brandon points to a tree beside a small lake. A tree whose leaves have not yet been affected by winter. Brandon hops up before Phillip can stop Eclipse. 

 

“H-Hey!” 

 

“Just pull on the reins!” Brandon shouts from below. Phillip does and nearly falls off. He’s granted some relief when Brandon helps him down from Eclipse instead of expecting him to do it by himself. Eclipse neighs and begins to feast on the wheat nearby. Brandon tugs Phillip by his sleeve to sit down. 

 

“I want to tell you something,” Brandon says. He’s fiddling with his thumbs. Phillip hugs his knees to his chest and stays silent as a way to urge Brandon on. 

 

“It’s about Rupert.” Brandon is staring at the ground. Phillip’s arms go limp and he drops them to the ground. Everytime he thinks he’s forgotten him, his name is mentioned again.

 

Brandon and Phillip had been very busy planning David’s downfall the months before winter break, so much so that Brandon neglected to check in with Phillip about any progress he’d been making with Mr. Cadell, and Phillip hadn’t pried. He’d been curious every so often, worried mostly. Brandon didn’t see much of him the first semester back, and Phillip had assumed things were beginning to dwindle off. 

 

A familiar fear blossoms in his gut, and he can’t find a response.

 

“I want you to know he was understanding, and all of that,” Brandon stutters. “And I’m still going to his private lessons. They just won’t be as private anymore.”

 

“Good.” The word slips out of Phillip’s mouth. “Good, that’s good.”   
  


“I told him about us,” Brandon adds in a whisper. He stares harder at the grass beneath them, and twirls a blade around his finger.

 

“You…” Phillip’s mind goes blank. “You,  _ what? _ ”

 

“You have to understand, he needed a reason,” Brandon says. 

 

“Then make up a reason!” Phillip remarks. “Any reason! I don’t want Mr. Cadell to know about me, who I am. It’s none of his business.” 

 

Phillip feels sick; Mr. Cadell probably sees him as the person who took his favorite pastime away now. Brandon can be so dense, he just runs his mouth, he’ll run it to anyone. Phillip stands up and walks to the edge of the lake, staring into the murky depths. He can hear Brandon rearing up beside him, but he doesn’t turn to face him.

 

“He can see through a lie in seconds.” Brandon’s stutter grows harsher by the second.

 

Phillip bites the inside of his cheeks. Brandon reaches out a hand but Phillip slaps it away. He can’t have him touching him right now, he needs to think.

 

“P-Phillip, if I didn’t tell him why I needed the whole thing to stop, he wouldn’t have allowed it to stop. I know him.” When Phillip doesn't respond, Brandon makes a sound like a wounded hyena. “I should have told you, are you happy?” 

 

Phillip crosses his arms, gazes out at the lake. He imagines what it may feel like to take a swim, if Phillip  _ could  _ swim.

 

“Tell me you’re sorry,” Phillip says. Brandon remains silent. For far too long. Christ, Phillip would have thought he’d at least attempt an apology.

 

“That’s rich.” Phillip walks back to Eclipse, intent full on going back to the farm as a way to escape this conversation. He needs a glass of water or anything other than breathing the same air of Brandon right now. 

 

“Wait, Phillip please,” Brandon begs. “I can make it up to you.”

 

“How?” Phillip asks. “Brandon, I’ll be over this whole ordeal in a few hours, I’m just bothered right now. I need some space.”

 

“I don’t think what I did was wrong,” Brandon says.

 

“You should have asked me!” Phillip exclaims. “Brandon, I know you meant well, but we do things together or we don’t do them at all. This isn’t even completely about Mr. Cadell, you still don’t trust me to compromise with you or to be on the same level. If you’d asked and explained, I’d have said yes. But, here we are. You telling me how many weeks after the fact? What am I to you?”

 

“I love you, Phillip,” Brandon says. His expression is pleading.

 

Phillip sighs. “Brandon, if you loved me you’d be able to say ‘I’m sorry.’”

 

Brandon grabs him by his shoulders and drags him close. The sudden fervency of it startles Phillip. “Look here, Phillip. Do you know how much I risked ending things with Rupert? I only did it because  _ you  _ wanted me to,  _ you  _ asked me too. Do you expect me to tell him I’m ending everything  and to say ‘oh, just a minute Rupert, I need to consult Phillip Morgan to see what he wants me to tell you’? You and me are superior Phillip, and that bond can’t be broken, but don’t treat me like a fool. I can’t consult you on everything I do, you wanted him to stop being the prevailing aspect of my life and I did that for you, how is this not enough?” 

 

Phillip is paralyzed staring back into Brandon’s eyes, fiery and owlish. Brandon seems to register Phillip is frightened and loosens his grip, just to tighten it again a few seconds later, this time more desperate and destitute.

 

“Phillip, please don’t turn away from me. I don’t like it. I need you to not turn away from me, even for a second. You must believe me when I say I need you,” He says softly.

 

Phillip wanted Brandon to know consequence, to know that he can’t go running his mouth about their personal lives whenever he desires to be rid of a bad situation, but any and all of those plans fly out the window. Perhaps it will always be this easy to persuade Phillip, perhaps he’s being gullible, but he doesn’t care. Phillip pulls Brandon in for a hug, and surprising himself, he’s the one that apologizes.

 

“I’m sorry.” 

 

Brandon holds him, hands grasping at his shoulders. Suddenly something wet is lapping at Phillip’s face. Phillip turns his head into the snout of Eclipse. She’s mouthing at Phillip and Brandon’s faces. Phillip laughs, the last of his bitterness draining from him. 

 

Rupert Cadell won’t ruin their time together.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They’re back in Brandon’s room that night. Brandon is buttoning up a silky pajama top. It’s black, and contrasts with the light blue of his eyes well. Phillip is sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him idly. 

 

“The look on David Kentley’s face if he knew we were sleeping in the same bed,” Phillip muses. Brandon makes a noise of approval, checking his hair in his mirror as if he’d need it to be well combed for bed. 

 

Phillip continues. “I still think it would have been brilliant to frame him as a homosexual to ruin his reputation in school. A taste of his own medicine?”

 

Brandon applies a transparent gel to his face. Some sort of skin remedy that absorbs into his skin almost instantly. “The thought is better than the reality which may have included massive backfire.”

 

“Always thinking ahead,” Phillip says unable to take his eyes off Brandon as the taller boy makes his way over to the bed, and plops down on the bed beside Phillip.

 

“I want a cigarette.”

 

“You just brushed your teeth,” Phillip reminds. 

  
“That doesn’t make me not want one,” Brandon retorts, hands twitching at his side.

 

Phillip lays down gently, and props himself up on one elbow, staring at the blue in Brandon’s eyes and the soft part of skin above his jaw where his cheeks are prominent. 

 

Brandon stares back. The only sound are the crickets from outside. Phillip’s never been in such a silence, always used to horns honking, and cabs swerving. He’d gotten used to it as a white noise when he sleeps, and there is something startlingly intimate about being with someone in that silence, just exchanging glances. Eyes flickering between lips, hearing each other’s stark breathing patterns.

 

Phillip leans in to kiss Brandon, raising up a hand to run a thumb under his eye. Brandon responds on impact, pushing back and moving a leg over Phillip’s. They’ve both washed up, skin soft, and the scent of soap mingling in the air. The door is locked, otherwise Phillip wouldn’t have dared initiate this.

 

They’ve kissed quite a few times in the past several months, and the longest they've ever gone is when they were both standing, and Phillip had a grip on the reality of the situation. Only when he feels grounded, and even then they never kiss for long. It never seemed necessary, but something about this is different, and Phillip doesn’t want to stop under any circumstance.

 

The urgency to it is slightly new. As Phillip’s hand travels forward to the nape of Brandon’s neck to pull him even closer, he realizes this isn’t like any of their normal intimate instances.

 

Brandon is draped over him completely now, and Phillip’s arms have fully circled around his neck, one hand gripping the strands of Brandon’s hair, and the other trying to find a grip on the damned silk that keeps slipping from his fingers. 

 

It’s not as if Phillip is a prudish kisser, but they’ve never gone this far, on a bed no less. And they’ve never kissed for so long that the hot breath and wet lips mingling made him feel restless and frantic. He’s getting hard, and if he weren’t so desperate for Brandon, he may feel dismayed at that. 

 

Brandon to his credit, backs off. His lips are swollen and red, hair he’d spent so many minutes on muffed up and astrue. The sight goes straight to Phillip’s cock, and he tries to drag Brandon back into him, but it’s as futile as one man trying to drag an anchor. 

 

“Phillip, you told me you didn’t want to go this far yet—”

 

“Screw it,” Phillip hisses, tugs hard, and Brandon topples forward, close enough for Phillip to attack him with his lips again. He holds Brandon’s face in his hands to keep him there. He lifts his hips up, trying his best to get some sort of contact, but Brandon reacts like a boulder.

 

He can’t exactly escape Phillip’s vice-like grip, so he speaks against his lips and it drives Phillip further up the wall. “A-Are you sure?”

 

“Yes, yes,” Phillip grumbles. “Just make love to me, do  _ something _ . I want you.”

 

Brandon’s eyes go impossibly darker, and he leads a trail of kisses from Phillip’s lips down to his neck and sucks a mark above his clavicle. Phillip does his best not to be too loud.

 

As is the normal for teenagers in love who are sleeping in the same bedroom and have the privilege of fooling around without prying eyes, they don’t get past a few frantic minutes, and are still fully clothed when they both reach their peak.

 

* * *

 

After, they're laying with their legs dangling off opposite sides off the bed; their faces are beside each other. Brandon smokes, Phillip watches it dissipate in the space above them.

 

“David will never see it coming,” Brandon says. He breathes out long and slow, still shaky after coming down from it all. “He'll be dead to the school. An outcast.”

 

“We can hope.” Phillip turns his head to look at Brandon. Brandon's gaze remains fixed on the ceiling. 

 

“He's inferior. If we weren't planning on ruining his reputation, someone or something else would.”

 

“Don't we have enough feathers by now?” Phillip asks. Having large quantities of feathers is a big part of the plan, but Phillip doesn't understand why they need more than one whole bucket.

 

“We can do better.” Brandon closes his eyes, refuses to expand. “Let's sleep.”

 

“Okay, Brandon. I believe you.” Phillip waits for Brandon to shut the lights out and crawl into bed with him, allows Brandon to pull him close and kiss his neck despite the sweat. The byproduct of their intimacy has barely cooled. 

 

Phillip wouldn’t call it sex, but it was certainly something. He feels closer to him.

 

After a few minutes of silence, Brandon's rhythmic breathing hitches, and his grip tightens almost painfully around Phillip's body. “What's wrong, Brandon?” Phillip asks, with the position he's in he’s having trouble turning to face him.

 

“Don't leave me, Phillip.”

 

“I'm right here,” Phillip notes.

 

“I know that!” Brandon's whisper is sharp in his ear. “Just...d-don't leave.” 

 

_ Ever?  _ Phillip thinks he can manage that, or he can damn well try. He wraps fingers around Brandon's forearm which is resting on his stomach, stroking ghost trails up and down the limb. It lulls Brandon to sleep apparently, because he's gone quiet. 

 

Phillip dreams about strangling one of the chickens in the farm, a common practice done by farmers apparently. The amount of feathers that would be earned. Exponential. 

 

* * *

 

“You boys look wrecked. I hope you didn’t stay up too late last night,” Henry says the next morning. She's placing a plate of eggs-over-easy in front of each of them, the plates have pink rims. .

 

For a moment, Phillip fears she might see right through him; would she know they fooled around last night just by glancing? But Brandon is right about his mom, she's practically oblivious to anything and everything. 

 

“I'm going into the city to settle some business deals today, can I trust you both to behave yourselves?” She looms over them like a manic owl.

 

Brandon and Phillip's eyes lock. There's something devious in Brandon's gaze. He smirks.

 

“Of course, mother.”

 

And like a owl, she swoops down and pecks a kiss to the top of Brandon's head. Phillip would laugh if she wasn't coming over to do the same to him. His cheeks blush hotly out of embarrassment, and she is strolling out of the kitchen with a smug grin after she's done.

 

“She'll be gone in about ten minutes. She's already in her work clothes,” Brandon observes.

 

Work clothes? They look identical to the normal outfits she wears in the farm or in the kitchen, but Phillip doesn't question it. Maybe everything in Connecticut is checkerboard patterned, even business suits. 

 

Brandon and Phillip eat their food quickly, scraping the last bits of it from their plates before going out to get the required farmwork over with. When they pluck more molted feathers from the chickens, Phillip fears the day before they return to Somerville. They'll need to collect blood for their plan, and Brandon had suggested using the chickens, perhaps a pig. Phillip wouldn't even begin to think about what killing an animal would feel like. He'd dreamed about it but dreams are just that. Dreams. 

 

When they return to the house later in the evening, Brandon's mother's truck is still gone, and Phillip becomes self aware he's covered in dirt and mud when he clambers up the stairs and leaves dark footprints on the wood. “Take those off and we'll go shower.” Brandon points to his own boots on Phillip's feet.

 

“We?” Phillip questions, as if last night had never even happened. There's only one shower in the house.

 

“Wouldn't want to waste water would you?” Brandon asks innocently.  _ Damn him _ .

 

Brandon falls down to his knees and takes the boots off Phillip for him, stashing them beside the welcome mat. Phillip hesitantly follows him through the house, and up the stairs. 

 

They’d had their fun last night, and their clothes had stayed on...  _ mostly _ . There’s something about this that is almost too intimate. Phillip’s afraid if Brandon sees all of him, he won’t want him anymore. They’re in the bathroom, and Brandon’s shirt is already off. Phillip’s mouth goes dry.

 

Not wanting to look like a prude, Phillip nervously unbuttons his shirt, slipping it off. He must be hunching over himself awkwardly because Brandon can read him like a book.

 

“You know I like you for who you are and not your looks. Though, you  _ are _ one of the most striking individuals I’ve ever laid my eyes on.” Brandon is staring into the mirror, looking over his skin for blemishes. 

 

Phillip opens his mouth but no words come out. He’s not used to such meaningful compliments. Brandon kisses him on his cheek, just on the edge of his lips.

 

“Not pressuring you, you can take a shower after me.”  _ Damn him again. _ __  
  


Brandon turns the water on and continues to undress as Phillip watches him. Phillip licks his chapped lips and starts unbuttoning his own trousers. Brandon is obviously devilishly pleased, and pulls him in for an intense kiss. 

 

They sit downstairs after they shower and dry off, listening to the radio and eating potato chips. Brandon sits with his legs draped over Phillip’s lap, easy enough to move off of if they hear the front door open. Many people may label this as living in fear, but for Phillip it’s almost exciting. Their little secret. He thinks perhaps he’ll get tired of it one day, but everytime Brandon leans in for a kiss, his stomach flips, and a thrill runs down his spine.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the break repeats itself, but not in an empty humdrum way; the way hearing a storybook tale over and over feels like. They wake up to work in the farm, ride Eclipse every so often, and gather two whole buckets of feathers far sooner than either of them thought possible. Quite enough for what they need to do. As for their romantic endeavors, they only nearly get caught by Brandon’s mother once.

 

They were making out in the shower, Phillip’s arms slinked around Brandon’s neck for support while Brandon held him up firmly by the waist, when there was a harsh rapping at the bathroom door. 

  
It was Brandon’s mother, and Brandon had answered meaning Phillip had to keep his trap shut. She’d asked where Phillip had gone and Brandon told her he assumed somewhere by the lake. Luckily for them, locks exist and they were able to sneak out and not make it known they were together. The thrill was phenomenal. Even Phillip can't deny that. 

 

He’d wondered if the thrill would be the same once they get David back.

 

* * *

 

January 1st. 1939.

 

“It's midnight,” Brandon says. He's staring at the clock in the living room, from where they both sit in the kitchen.

 

Henry is off to the city on a work call, and Phillip is eating leftover cookies at the table. With his mouth full, he responds. “Happy New year, Brandon- _ mph _ !”

 

Brandon swoops in for a kiss before the clock can claim it’s 12:01.

 

* * *

 

Now as the break comes to a close, only a few days left until they return to Somerville, Brandon comes up from where he was performing, rather diligently, between Phillip’s legs, sits on his haunches, and wipes his lips with a sleeve. 

 

“I think it’s time,” Brandon says before Phillip can catch his breath. 

 

“For  _ what _ .” 

 

“Blood spillage,” he replies darkly. Phillip wipes the sweat from his forehead before sitting up on his elbows.

 

“Don’t be strange about it.” 

 

“We need to start now.”

 

“ _ Now _ now?” Phillip barely has any feeling in his legs at the moment, how does Brandon except him to get dressed and go outside to the barn?

 

“Yes  _ now  _ now!” Brandon whispers back sharply. “We can’t risk mother seeing in the day time.” 

 

Despite himself, Phillip flails an arm around the bedsheets trying to find his pants. “I thought you said slaughtering chickens was a normal, monthly procedure.”

 

“Yes  _ monthly _ , and not a dozen of them. It’ll be easy to make the excuse that they escaped through a break in the fence.” Brandon pauses pulling up a sock. “We’ll have to break the fence too so she'll believe us. If she even figures out the chickens are missing, that is.”

 

“Brandon isn’t this all a little too much?” Phillip asks, winces at Brandon’s immediate sullen glare. “We could cover him in some sort of soup or cornstarch. Why blood?”

 

“He’ll look like a big bloodied chicken, much better than cornstarch,” Brandon simply says. “Far more humiliating. He’s lucky we aren’t going out of our way to fetch some tar.”

  
“We couldn’t tar and feather someone,” Phillip says with a nervous chuckle wondering if Brandon is even half serious. 

 

“You’re not having doubts about this now are you Phillip?” Brandon asks. He’s staring right through him, piercing and unrelenting. Phillip stumbles over his response.

 

“N-No, of course not.” 

 

“Good. Let’s go.” 

 

* * *

 

It has to be around midnight when they’re in the barn. A dozen or more chickens cluck at them, only those that are still awake and outside of the henhouse. The unlucky bunch. 

 

Brandon sets down one large bucket beside them. It comes with a lid so they'll be able to transport it back by train with ease.

 

“Pick one up,” Brandon instructs, points to the loud birds. Phillip does as he’s told. The chicken doesn’t resist. 

 

Brandon strokes a fingers down its twitching head, and without ceremony, takes a hold of the feet, and wraps his other hand around the chicken’s neck. 

 

“Watch closely,” he says quietly. In one swift movement, Brandon pulls down around the neck, and twists up so fast Phillip doesn’t have time to blink. A sickening crack echoes in the midnight silence. There are suddenly flapping wings in Phillip's face, then the chicken is limp.

 

“Don’t worry about the wings, it’s just a reflex. It’s not alive.” Brandon takes out a small pocket knife and kneels down to bleed it out. 

 

Phillip’s hands are still raised as if he were still holding the chicken. He can’t process that something just died in his arms. Brandon's mother had been doing the chicken work the past few weeks, Phillip had not yet seen it done in person. He doesn’t know what to say when he looks down and sees Brandon getting as much blood as he can from the chicken into the bucket. 

 

They’re going to do this eleven more times.  _ Eleven _ . Phillip has to steady himself. 

 

Brandon stumbles inside the barn to grab a tarp they have stashed away. He puts the drained chicken on it. For later when they need to bury all of them. The chicken is a bloody, cut up, feathery mess. Phillip thinks he should feel like gagging, but he doesn’t feel anything of the sort. He doesn’t really feel anything towards it.

 

“Alright, Phillip?” 

 

Phillip nods slowly. “Yes.”

 

“Get another one.”

 

“Yes,” Phillip repeats. It takes him a minute to wrangle another one. With how wildly they're cawing, Phillip wonders if they can register what had just happened as a murder of their own kind. Or are they oblivious just like Henry Shaw? Brandon pulls his sleeves up higher before doing the same thing to this chicken he did to the prior. Phillip doesn’t say anything until the last one, keeps picking them up without needing to hear the order, allowing Brandon to do what he needs to do. 

 

The bucket is about three quarters of the way full. More than enough. It’s thick red liquid, and it smells putrid. 

 

Brandon reaches towards the last chicken, but Phillip pulls it away. 

 

“Getting cold feet?” Brandon’s voice is even, but Phillip can see in his eyes he’s vexed.

 

“I want to do it,” Phillip says quietly. 

 

Brandon’s eyes widen. He lowers his arms and watches Phillip with a roused gleam in his eyes. Phillip grips the bird by its two legs and moves a hand gently around the chicken’s neck. It clucks and he can feel the blood pulsing underneath his fingertips. 

 

He tugs down and then pulls up violently. The snap beneath his palm sends a shiver down his spine, but there is a strange pleasant exhilaration to it that has the breath in Phillip’s throat lost. Phillip hands the body over to Brandon once it’s mostly done flapping and twitching. He can still feel the weight of it in his hands once Brandon takes it from him.

 

Brandon is staring at him and only takes his eyes off Phillip when he needs to dig the knife into the precise spot. Phillip stares into the distance where the fence cuts off before the forest, listens to the squelching noises of the knife digging further into the chicken’s flesh. Soon the last drop of blood enters the bucket, and Brandon puts a lid on it, hands bloody and shaking. Even he seems not so accustomed to killing this many things in one night. Who would be? Phillip leans down and runs a hand down Brandon’s cheek, tugging him by his neck slightly, as a gesture to get him to start moving. They bring the bucket to the space beneath the front porch stairs to pick it up before boarding the train in a few days. 

 

Phillip leads Brandon to the bathroom; Brandon is a little too dazed to make a decision on his own right now. He may have just gone to bed covered in blood if Phillip hadn’t been here to ground him. He sits Brandon down on the lidded toilet and takes a dark towel and begins to wash the blood from his hands. Brandon lets Phillip do it, watching him blankly. 

 

“It’ll be worth it, like you said.” The sound of Phillip’s voice is alien even to himself right now. Brandon places his now clean right hand on Phillip’s head, strokes his fingers through the black strands. 

 

“He’ll never say another word against you after this.” Brandon barely moves his lips.

 

“Against  _ us _ ,” Phillip corrects. He takes a clean part of the towel, and rubs out some dirt that’s found its way onto Brandon’s face, perhaps a speck or two of blood as well. The cool water seems to wake Brandon up from his dazed trance a little more. 

 

“We’re going to shroud him in humiliation, so much so that he won’t be able to picture his future as anything other than a chagrined catastrophe.”

 

“That or, you know, hate himself for a few days at least.” Phillip smiles at Brandon’s grumpy expression and puts the towel in the hamper. “Come on, it’s nearly one in the morning.”

 

They climb in bed once they’re freshened up, and Phillip stares at the ceiling for hours before sleep finds him, focusing on Brandon’s steady heartbeat against his chest, and remembering the pulse of the chicken he’d maliciously curled his eager hand around. 

 

* * *

 

The day they are to go back, Henry Shaw kisses Phillip’s cheeks at least over ten times, scooping him up into a suffocating hug afterwards. “Please, please,  _ please  _ come back anytime you like, love. I’ll prepare a big meal.”

 

“Thank you, Henry.” Phillip’s response is muffled into her blue checkerboard shoulder. “For having me over the break, too.”

 

“Always! You’re always welcome. Anyone who makes my Brandon as happy as you do is  _ always _ welcome here.” She pinches Phillip’s cheek.

 

“ _ Ma! _ ” Brandon grumbles. Henry gifts her son a light slap to the shoulder. 

 

“Take good care of my second son while you two are back in school. I expect him to go home to his mother in tip top shape.” Phillip bites back a grin and Brandon rolls his eyes, dragging Phillip by his hand towards the porch stairs. 

 

“ _ Goodbye _ , mother.” She waves, and doesn’t question it when Brandon grabs the two buckets of feathers and Phillip grabs the bucket of blood from under the porch, throwing it atop their luggage to roll to the train station. Oblivious.

 

* * *

 

They get back to school that evening, and are able to stash the buckets under Brandon’s bed, unnoticed. They won’t need them until the first of February. The Sophomore Showcase. David is performing a trumpet solo. This is when Brandon and Phillip are planning on pouring the blood on him, in front of the entire student body, and to follow directly after with the buckets of feathers.

 

It’s degradation in its finest degree. 

 

They have about a month to get the mechanics of it all in place. They’d already snuck into the theater in the previous semester and worked out how they could do it, but things may have changed. Renovations could have occurred. 

 

For now Phillip tries not to think about it, he thinks about the fact that it’s a Monday.

  
“Are you going to Rupert’s tonight?” Phillip asks when they’re both settled down on their respective beds.

 

Brandon glances over at him from the book he has open. 

 

“Yes,” he finally replies after moments of silence. “I’ll be back here at nine.” The time that the sessions are supposed to end. Phillip wants to come, but he also doesn’t want to come across as jealous or distrusting.

 

“You can come if you like,” Brandon says then, with an understanding smile. “I’d like you to join in on the Nietzsche conversations. Rupert  _ is _ quite the intellect.” 

 

Phillip drowns the immediate instinct to argue this claim. “I’d like to come,” is all he says.

 

* * *

 

And Phillip does come, following Brandon like a shy mouse into the firelit office of Rupert Cadell. It still smells the same, like old books and a peculiar musk. Phillip is surprised to see Kenneth there, alongside the two regulars Phillip remembers from the last time.

 

“Phillip! I was hoping to catch Brandon, I didn’t think you’d be coming.” Kenneth’s hair looks blonder than it was before break. Phillip barely registers his words.

 

“Something to say?” Brandon asks. Phillip can feel the gaze of Rupert Cadell on their backs as they converse with their classmate. 

 

“I wanted to apologize on David’s behalf. I think he felt rather guilty over break about what he spread about the two of you. H-He told me as much—” Phillip can tell he’s lying. “—but, what he said, and  _ implied _ ,  was wrong and he didn’t mean for it to get out of hand.”

 

Phillip wants to reply bitterly, but Brandon subtly bumps his shoe with his own to silence him before responding with a bogus grin. “We’ve been over it for months Kenneth, there’s no need to worry about our feelings. I assure you it’s all child’s play to us, now.”

 

“That’s good to hear.” Kenneth seems genuinely relieved. Phillip doesn’t know why Brandon said what he said, but he doesn’t have time to think much about it before Kenneth is fumblingly dismissing himself from the club. 

 

Rupert shoots Phillip a coy smile. “Glad to see you back, Phillip.” 

 

“Brandon’s been teaching me a lot of Nietzsche's morale.” Phillip glares icily back in return, until Brandon tugs on his sleeve for him to sit down. 

 

Halfway during Rupert’s lecture, he’s flipping through the pages of a book, trying to find a specific quote. Brandon leans in to whisper in Phillip’s ear.

 

“We have to keep the school thinking we’re over it all in order to not look like suspects for the whole February plot.”

 

Phillip nods once. He understands now.

 

When Rupert is done an hour later, after Brandon and the other two students had given their two cents on the discussions and Phillip had merely indifferently absorbed it all, Phillip is heading towards the office door with Brandon.

 

“Brandon,” Rupert says. Phillip’s heart stops. He doesn’t turn around, and Brandon says, “Yes?”   
  


“I hope you had a good winter break with Phillip.” He’s speaking directly to Brandon, not asking Phillip or including him whatsoever. Phillip feels violent. It’s the first time he ever wonders if a human being’s neck is as fragile as a chicken’s.

 

“We did, Rupert. Thank you. Goodnight,” Brandon says. Phillip is thankful Brandon doesn’t get the urge to stay and converse, or if he does he shoves it down. 

 

Phillip doesn’t attend another meeting this semester. 

 

* * *

 

Brandon and Phillip sneak into the auditorium the next week, and Phillip watches in astonishment as a prop they’re using in place of a bucket drops from one of the stage wires. Phillip can almost picture the night, David covered in Brandon and Phillip’s handiwork, dripping and devastated. Brandon’s hand moves to Phillip’s lower back, digging into the bottom of his spine, vice-like.

 

* * *

 

The rumor of their intimacy had died down over break, despite Brandon and Phillip’s relationship becoming as strong as ever. They sleep in the same bed almost every night, Phillip’s discovered more places on Brandon’s body than he’s found on himself, and Brandon doesn’t talk about Rupert. 

 

Everything is perfect. And it terrifies Phillip as much as it arouses his senses. 

 

* * *

 

January 31st. 1939.

 

Brandon slicks up his fingers with the oil he’d brought from home, and Phillip gasps when his hand disappears between the lower curve of his back. 

 

“We’re running out of that,” Phillip breathes, hands shaking where he holds himself up on Brandon’s shoulders. “ _ Oh _ .”

  
“It’s not my fault you’re so damn horny all of a sudden,” Brandon crows.

 

“Shut up! You’re the one who—” Brandon cuts Phillip off with a kiss and brings them closer together. Phillip melts into his charm and his nerve disappears into the wet heat of Brandon’s mouth.

 

* * *

 

Brandon signed them into the showcase event at the front door of the auditorium, their alibi, and drags Phillip by his sleeve into the door leading to the backstage. Brandon had told him there would be many technicians working the show, and there is only a small window they could be in the bridge above the stage without being seen.

 

Phillip’s heart pounds in his ears as he’s dragged up and through darkened corridors til they reach the metal grate stairs that lead above to where they need to be. 

 

He freezes in fear. When they’d done this alone, practiced, it had not been this taxing on his body and his mind. They’d left the buckets up there, no one would touch them, Brandon had said. Phillip isn’t quite sure about that, anyone could have peered inside and seen feathers and blood, and perhaps the authorities would be on their way to arrest them now if they discovered they were the ones who—

 

“Come on!” Brandon breaks into his disquieting stream of conscious. “We have seconds!”

 

Phillip follows him despite it feeling like there are cement blocks tied to his legs. Brandon does all the work while Phillip watches with a nauseous feeling stirring in his head. Brandon ties a rope around the lid’s hook, and around the bucket’s circumference, so when the ladder rope is pulled and then the first, the bucket will tip, and the lid will be opened. Phillip’s not quite sure it will work.

 

Won’t it be more embarrassing on them if it doesn’t work and they’re discovered? Perhaps this will backfire and their reputations will be the ones tarnished. 

 

Brandon is then handing him a rope as he dangles the bucket of blood over the rail on the bridge. “Phillip, hold tight,” he says. Phillip does as he’s told, it’s not a difficult task after all. He thinks he’d very much like to be drinking the Brent Twin’s special moonshine concoction again. 

 

Phillip feels a weight in his hands as the bucket now dangles directly above David. Phillip hears the echoing noises of a trumpet playing, and wonders if David will move around on stage and ruin everything. All those chickens killed for nothing. 

 

“Lower it slightly,” Brandon orders. Phillip does for a few seconds until Brandon raises a hand. “There. Perfect. The audience still doesn’t see it. Are you ready?”

 

“Ready?” Phillip repeats, as if they haven’t been planning this for months. Brandon is holding the other rope, and he tugs first without warning.

 

“Now!” he whisper-shouts, and Phillip tugs instinctively, the lid comes open, and chicken blood covers David practically from head to toe. A collective gasp is heard from the audience as Brandon is shaking feathers from the other two buckets down onto David Kentley. Not all of them stick, but a lot of them do, and it’s a sight very similar to how Phillip dreamed it would be. From what Phillip can see, David is frozen in shock, staring at the blood and feathers covering his arms. The trumpet has been dropped on the floor of the stage. 

 

Brandon grabs Phillip’s hand and starts darting towards the stairs back down to the main level. “Come on, Phillip, don’t drag your feet!” He says in a rush, and he’s dragging him back through the doors that lead into the lobby, and then the exit. 

 

Brandon grins when they’re outside, and no one is in sight.

 

He howls into the sky like a rabid animal. “Did you see his  _ face  _ Phillip? Did you see the look on his hideous face?!” Phillip stands frozen, watching Brandon almost implode with jubilance. “He’ll never live this down for as long as he lives!” 

 

Brandon makes a chicken noise, and keels over because he’s laughing so hard, bracing himself on his knees. Phillip stares, going over in his head what he just did. What  _ they  _ just did. Was it worth it? Of course it was, but why does Phillip feel dreadful?

 

Brandon starts hyperventilating, unable to catch his breath and the gears in Phillip start to shift again, and he moves closer, to rub a hand soothingly over Brandon’s back. 

 

“Brandon, please calm down.” 

 

“I can’t!” He shouts back, he’s still breathing heavily, stuttering over his words as his breath gets caught in his throat. “We’ve accomplished it! We’ve proven we’re superior, Phillip do you know what that means? We can do anything, get away with anything!” 

 

Brandon rears closer to Phillip, and Phillip looks around. “Phillip it’s true, nothing can stop us. People will be talking of this years to come, and they’ll be talking about us while never knowing, never understanding the brilliance was from two young prep school boys. We’re smarter than any philosopher, politician, or dictator in the world, in history!” 

 

Phillip wouldn’t go  _ that  _ far, but what they did  _ was  _ pretty miraculous.

 

Brandon’s lips are crushing against his then, and Phillip yelps in surprise, pushing at Brandon, trying anyway to get him to budge. Brandon backs off in his own time. “No one can catch us, Phillip. We’re above law. We’re above society.”

 

Phillip pushes him away once more. “Well, I’m not above going back to the dorm rather than standing here in the cold.”

 

Brandon grins and scoops him up, spinning him around as if it were their wedding day. 

 

* * *

 

Word has spread all around school the next day. Teachers are in a mad confusion. Students are spreading rumors like wildfire, saying it was one of David’s exes that had done such a thing, or one of the Brent’s groupies. The Dean is nowhere to be seen. Some imbeciles assume it was a technical difficulty on the tech department’s behalf, as if they’d have buckets of blood lying around on the wires. The police get involved in course, and send the blood off for testing, most likely to check if it’s human. David doesn’t show his face in class for two days, and is probably genuinely excused by the administration out of the sheer tragedy of the mishap. For his trumpet had also received the cruel punishment. 

 

No one voices a word of Brandon and Phillip, or no one dares. Brandon and Phillip sit alone at lunch for the next few weeks, watching Kenneth and David’s other friends console David. It’s quite hilarious.

 

Phillip’s fears of getting caught had subsided, and now he attempts to enjoy the aftermath.

 

Brandon makes the perfect suggestion that they give their condolences, just to dig the dagger further into his proverbial gut of pride. 

 

“I’m just so sorry this had to someone of your stature, David,” Brandon says with the fakest expression of sympathy Phillip has ever seen him pull out of his sleeve. “You were such a hard-working, respectable, student.”

 

“Were?” David mumbles. He’s holding his head in his hands, and not even bothering to look up at Brandon or Phillip.

  
“ _ Are _ , I mean, of course. It’s just that...” Brandon glances sideways at Phillip. He’s holding back a smile. “It’s j-just that this sort of thing won’t go away overnight.”

 

“When I find who did this, I’ll make  _ them  _ go away overnight.” 

 

“They did their job efficiently. They’ll be hard to catch,” Phillip says smoothly. “But, I’ll wish you all the luck in the world, David.”

 

David deadpans a “thank you” to them and they depart from his lunch table, disposing of their trays and they head back to their dorm together, watching from afar as rumors and theories flower into ugly truths and falsities. 

 

Phillip wonders later in their second semester what else they could do and get away with. Brandon truly was right all along. They’re unstoppable. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't believe i'm getting shit done on this fic even while i'm dying in college, thanks for the support i've gotten on this, i appreciate the anons and the love. more to come :)


	4. 1939/1940

Summer 1939 

 

Phillip has never known summer to be so lonely. 

 

Most students beg for an extra month, extra time off from work and education, but for Phillip there is nothing to do, nothing like a farmhouse routine in the morning, and no one like Brandon Shaw to wake up to. 

 

The routine of  _ no  _ routine with an unhealthy dose of rumination plagues his free time at home. 

 

He thinks once of inviting Brandon to his house like Brandon had done for him over winter break; it’s a rather large townhouse in the Upper East Side, and he thinks Brandon would appreciate its magnitude.

 

But, there’s the issue of his mother. 

 

Eva Morgan is a fickle woman. She’s certainly no Henry Shaw. She’d never make the two of them cookies out of the goodness of her heart. Her philosophy is, if you want it, get it yourself. Phillip’s never had an issue with that philosophy; it’s how he was raised, but spending time at the Shaw Farmhouse had felt like a daydream. 

 

His life feels more like a  _ life _ . Unfair and conditional.

 

Phillip fears Brandon living a day in his life might lessen Brandon’s vision of him. He thinks on it hard, he’d still love to bring Brandon to his room, hold him in his own bed. He’s never thought that about anyone. 

 

He misses him. 

 

* * *

 

“I’ve never seen you so happy,” Eva Morgan says, a cigarette dangling from her red manicured nails. “You’re practically jumping out of your skin.”

 

It is the day before classes start up again. He’ll be driven back to Somerville today. Despite the slight fear building in his chest towards what the aftermath of the David Kentley ordeal might possibly be, any and all thought of seeing Brandon again outweighs it.

 

“What’s wrong with that, mom?” Phillip asks.

 

“Can I ask again who she is?” she pries, eyes focused in the newspaper laid out on the kitchen table. 

 

There she goes again about some girl. Phillip understands why she thinks he’s with a girl, he  _ knows  _ why she thinks it. The past several years of his childhood he’s acted with a resigned posture and attitude towards his boring, monotonous, homelife. 

 

Now he smiles at things not worth smiling at, and he walks as if he has a place to be, rather than ten steps behind in the wrong direction.

 

Poking at his toast with a fork, Phillip thinks perhaps it’d be easier to admit to something, just to get her to stop asking.

 

“Her name’s…” Phillip goes back to the first girl that comes to his mind. “Betty.”

 

“Cute.” His mom responds with a tight smile. “I hope to meet her sometime in the future. I can give her some tips on how to satisfy a man.”

 

Phillip makes a disgusted face, and his mother laughs.

 

* * *

 

Phillip opens the door to their dorm slowly, not knowing what to expect. Brandon spins around, mouth full of what seems like half a sandwich, like he’d been too lazy to eat it in bites. He smiles gawky and wide, looking very similar to a chipmunk.

 

Phillip grins, drops his bags, and runs over to hug him. Brandon accepts him with open arms, and spins him around in place before dropping him back to his feet.

 

“Let’s look at you,” Brandon says. “I missed this face,” He clasps Phillip’s cheek in his hand, as he looks him over. “You’ve matured.”

 

“It’s only been a few months.”

 

“Even so.” Phillip thinks he’s imagining it, but Brandon looks as if he's gotten taller. Impossibly. As if he weren’t already tall enough. A crick will start to develop in Phillip's neck if he looks up at him for too long. 

 

Phillip drags his luggage to his side of the room. “Mother’s been asking about you.” He doesn’t normally mention his mother. Brandon’s perks up, listening closely.

 

“I didn’t think you told your mother about me,” he says.

  
“I don’t really,” Phillip explains. “She keeps asking about girlfriends. Wondering why I’m so happy as of late. I would never tell her about us, obviously, but I told her I was with a girl to get her off my back.” 

 

Brandon shrugs. “Okay, what does it have to do with me?”

  
“Because if she tells you I don’t want you to worry,” Phillip mumbles. He’s staring at the floor and his eyes shoot back up when Brandon starts laughing.

 

“Phillip, you yourself could tell me you were leaving me for some girl, and I wouldn’t believe you. Another boy however, sure.” 

 

Phillip flushes red. 

 

“But, I have full faith that you’re still head over heels for me and me alone.”

 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Phillip retorts, but it’s not as if Brandon is wrong.

 

“Why would she tell me anyhow?” He adds. Of course Brandon wants to know. Phillip has been with Brandon for months and months, but this is still something that makes him nervous, causes his stomach to flip.

 

“I-I was going to ask, if you’d wish to accompany me to my mother’s townhouse this winter,” Phillip says slowly, articulating each word carefully, as if he may scare Brandon off like a startled rabbit.

 

Phillip shouldn’t worry; Brandon beams, and uncrosses his arms. “Sounds fun. Your mother doesn’t mind?”

 

“My mother is rarely there,” Phillip admits.

 

“Even better.” Brandon smirks. “It’ll be interesting to meet your mother, though. All the stories I’ve heard don’t paint her in the best of lights.”

 

“She’s a good woman at her heart,” Phillip says with a sigh. “She’s just got her mind on the wrong priorities mostly every day of her life.”

 

“Poor judgement,” Brandon crows. “Passed it down to her son.”

 

Phillip closes the space between them to shove Brandon with both his hands. He’s laughing, “You bastard. Shut up!”   
  


Brandon kisses him when he gets close enough, smiling against his lips, and drawing Phillip closer by the curve of his back. The one thing marvelous about Brandon Shaw is he can make months of morbid rumination disappear with a simple smile.

 

* * *

 

It’s hard to grapple with the fact it’s their Junior year of prep school already. Phillip is going to be seventeen soon, an age boys usually begin to think about jobs and colleges. Phillip has thought of neither. 

 

Brandon hasn’t spoken of his plans either. Phillip has no idea where they’ll go after school, if they’ll be together. Perhaps now is a good time to start figuring out the specifics. Phillip would like to go to college with Brandon; they’re likely to pick the same school even if they aren’t planning it together. 

 

Junior year flies by quicker than the previous years. Classes catch up to Phillip and he finds himself dealing with the troubles of being practically forced into advanced and honors classes, merely because of his good grades. It bogs him down, leaves a cloud of stress above him, and doesn’t give him nearly enough time to spend with Brandon, or to spend alone. Phillip’s always valued his alone time, and even with that gone, he feels like a twig being held between a wolf’s teeth.

 

And not being able to talk to Brandon has hindered any discussion they could have about their future. Brandon has been attending more of Rupert’s meetings, as Rupert had scheduled extra due to apparent  _ popular demand _ . Brandon claims there are at least fifteen students that show up every other day, and Phillip can’t imagine that’s the case.

 

Philosophy Club with Rupert is akin to sitting on the dusty rug of your grandmother’s living room, listening to her ramble on forgetfully about a story you’ve heard nearly a dozen times before. The subjects are sometimes relatively intriguing, but Phillip can hear the theories and tales just as well from Brandon as he can from a professor he’d rather never see the face of again.

 

Brandon had somehow come to the conclusion that Phillip likes Rupert, and Phillip plays along, certain that he’ll never have to come face to face with this lie. Brandon doesn’t talk about Rupert often, and Phillip never asks. It’s a good system, for now.

 

Seeing that the hours of free time he  _ does  _ have dredge by without Brandon there to keep him company, it’s Junior year of prep that Phillip decides to finalize some sort of hobby. He picks piano, since he’s already slightly beyond a beginner’s level, able to play the whole of  _ Joy to the World _ , and  _ Lavender’s Blue _ . He’s always revelled in music, adored it, and would like to become better at it. He decides to take advantage of the practice rooms the school offers.

 

Phillip is appalled to find that the practice rooms are rarely used. There is one student that arrives every so often with his trumpet to get some privacy, but no one uses the pianos, all of which are huge, black, vintage things, ready to be played. Dusty, as they may be.

 

Phillip purchases music books from downtown, beginners just to refresh himself, and piano skills beyond that. He vows to himself to practice at least three times a week, because if he doesn’t, his skill will diminish. 

 

He doesn’t tell Brandon about his new hobby, for whenever he gets back to their dorm at night, Brandon isn’t there. He shows up an hour or so after Phillip is already asleep, or too late to even acknowledge each other properly. 

 

He explains to Phillip that Rupert’s meetings go on for longer now, that kids tell tales more often than Philosophy, and that sometimes the stories are so long they can go past midnight. 

 

Phillip doesn’t press him for more info, he doesn’t care all that much.

 

That is, until Brandon makes this a habit. He’s rarely in the room, and when he is his nose is so deep in a book Phillip feels like he’s talking to a brick wall. 

 

By October, Brandon is so absorbed in his studies on Nietzsche and the study of human nature, he locks himself away in his room during lunch to scribble away in his notebook, assignments Rupert had suggested he attempt. Trying to please him in anyway possible other than giving Rupert what Phillip believes he still truly wants.

 

That, or Rupert’s moved on to someone else and has no idea the intense effect he holds over Brandon’s mental state. 

 

Out of a desperate need to be close with him in some way, Phillip attempts to join what he’s doing instead of continuing to passive aggressively look on from afar.

 

He peaks over his shoulder at his notebook, scooting closer so their shoulders touch. Brandon doesn’t seem to notice, keeps writing away on the floor, eyes flickering wildly over the lined paper.

 

“What are you doing?” Phillip asks. 

 

Brandon doesn’t answer, merely taps the open book above him with his pen, goes back to writing something down. 

 

Phillip can’t read his handwriting, it’s really not the cleanest, especially when he’s writing like a madman who’s crafting a ransom note; it’s practically indecipherable. Phillip looks up at the book to see what he’d pointed to.

 

The book is surprisingly  _ not  _ Nietzsche, but a lengthy critique of Nietzsche. Phillip is able to make out a few words in his notebook and connect the dots to understand Brandon is writing a rebuttal of this book. Seems like tedious work, pointless even.

 

Phillip rests his forehead against Brandon’s shoulder, reaches a hand around to unbutton his shirt. Brandon doesn’t say anything, Phillip’s not even sure he notices. Phillip slides a hand under his shirt, rubbing at his chest, moving almost below his navel. Brandon  _ does  _ notice when Phillip’s thumb skates over a nipple and he shifts enough to signal for Phillip to stop. 

 

“Please, Phillip. I’m trying to focus.”   
  


“Are you going to be done soon?” Phillip asks, head still rested on his shoulder.

 

Brandon shrugs. “I don’t know. I still have a lot I need to cover.”

 

Phillip’s sure Brandon hears him sigh, because he turns to give him a light kiss just on the side of his lips, smiling flatly before returning to his work.

 

Phillip wants to ask why in the world he can’t take a five minute break. Will it kill him? He’s going to burn the candle at both ends and end up in the nurse’s office for detrimental exhaustion. Not to mention, his pious nature towards these philosophers he’s studying is beginning to get on Phillip’s nerves. Brandon had been fine a while back without treating these men like gods, especially Nietzsche. 

 

Bitter, Phillip moves over to his bed and plops down on his pillow, staring at the wall and valiantly tries to zone out the sound of led moving against paper. 

 

* * *

 

Phillip usually takes lunch outside now that Brandon no longer joins him. That, or he eats quickly and spends the rest of his time in the library. 

 

Perhaps out of a need for social contact, realizing that Brandon had been his only source for it as of late (a source that has temporarily run dry), he sits with the only people he knows beside him.

 

David Kentley and Kenneth Lawrence.

 

If Brandon knew he were sitting with David, he’d go ballistic. Phillip isn’t too worried; he can spin some lie about how he wants to hear more about the aftermath of David’s social demise. But in reality, he needs people to talk with.

 

“Heya, Phillip,” Kenneth says with his signature warm grin. It’s very different from Brandon’s. One never feels intimidated or suspicious. Kenneth is an open book, but perhaps his one weakness is being too generous. 

 

David greets Phillip as well, a small wave, as he continues to stare at the peas on his tray. Phillip plops his tray down, making himself comfortable.

 

“Where’s Brandon, lately? I’ve noticed you sitting alone by the big oak,” Kenneth questions. Phillip had hoped to not bring up the subject of Brandon, but he won’t hide the truth.

 

“He’s more or less married to Philosophy now,” Phillip explains, perhaps allowing his asperity to get the better of him. “I wouldn’t mind, if it wasn’t basically running every aspect of his life. He’s lost all sense of self.”

 

“I’m sure it’s a phase. A lot of people our age get really passionate about certain interests. It’s good he’s found something he likes,” Kenneth says, always the pleaser.

 

“I suppose.” Phillip picks at his food. His appetite has not been much recently. When he’s with Brandon he can eat a three course meal and not feel it, but right now he can barely raise a spoonful of mashed potatoes to his mouth.

 

“I think he’s being rude as all hell,” David grumbles, shoves a piece of chicken in his mouth. Doesn’t close it when he continues to talk. “You look depressed, and he hasn’t even noticed. What kind of a friend is that?”

 

Kenneth smiles gently. “I was actually going to come to you today and ask if you needed anything, Phillip. You really have looked off.”

 

Phillip blinks. He didn’t think he had. “Do I really look that bad?”

 

“At one point a few days ago you were staring out into the mountains for at least a solid ten minutes, Phil. Just doing nothing but staring with an open book in your hand. I don’t think I noticed you eat anything off your tray.”

 

“I’ve been thinking about my studies lately, and my future. My hobbies. A lot of things to consider,” Phillip says, and the words rush out. All of this is making him nervous. 

 

“Do you know what college you’re going to?” David asks, mouth somehow still full. The question is a saving grace. 

 

“I was thinking about Harvard, or Columbia. For music, hopefully.” 

 

“Music!” Kenneth cries out. “That’s  _ amazing _ , Phil. What kind?”

 

“I’ve been practicing quite a bit on the piano, lately.” Phillip can feel his cheeks flush red. He hasn’t had proper interaction with much of anyone in the past few weeks, all the questions about him are making him shy away slightly.

 

“He should join us in our jam sessions. We said we needed a pianist,” David says to Kenneth. Kenneth eyes glisten with delight.

 

“Would you like to come practice with us? It would be me, David, my brother, and you. I don’t know how well you play, but we’re not experts, so you won’t have to worry about making a fool of yourself.” Kenneth reaches over to slap Phillip’s shoulder lightly. “You’ll really enjoy it. I think you need some time away from this school too. It begins to feel like a prison after a while, doesn’t it?”

 

“Yes, in a way,” Phillip admits softly. “I’d like to join you.”

 

* * *

 

Kenneth’s house is as lovely as Phillip would expect. And as modest. His family has enough money to send him to a private school, but aren’t millionaires, and spend their money resourcefully.

 

David is on guitar, Kenneth has a trumpet, and Kenneth’s brother plays drums. Phillip is able to use the keyboard they have in the garage, much smaller than the piano he’s been using, but keys are keys. He’s glad he’d practiced for weeks beforehand, otherwise he would be stumbling along. 

 

Phillip has never “jammed” before, but he finds it’s more fun that he’d expected. More fun than he’d ever expect to have with David. He almost forgets that David spread rumors about him; and he almost forgets what he did to David last semester. They go for jazz, the easiest to improv and mess up. 

 

When it’s over hours later, Phillip feels bereft of the experience. 

 

What worries him, is that for a few hours, he managed to forget Brandon, and forget his internal struggle relation to his future. 

 

David drives them back to Somerville, about a thirty minute drive give or take. Phillip thanks them for a good time, and before David parks the car, he asks if Phillip wants to join them going forward. It’s a bad decision, Phillip thinks, that he says ‘sure’ so easily.

 

Now Phillip is the one to show up to their dorm room late in the night. He is almost expecting Brandon to berate him, ask him where he was. When he sees Brandon is in bed, asleep, Phillip’s heart drops. He hadn’t been expecting, more just  _ hoping _ . About a year ago, Brandon would have stayed up until five am if it meant seeing Phillip come back to their dorm safe and sound. 

 

Something about the silence of the room, and his crushed expectations, enrages Phillip and for the first time in weeks he doesn’t feel mild concern or curiosity. 

 

It’s pure acrimony.

 

The next day at lunch, instead of eating, Phillip marches up to their room to find Brandon on the floor, notebook open, and pen in hand. He doesn’t have time to look up before Phillip kicks the notebook across the room. 

 

Brandon’s mouth drops open, and glances over to where the notebook had slid under Phillip’s bed. “Phillip, what the hell?!”

 

“What has gotten into you?” Phillip clamors, ignoring his outburst. “You’ve barely talked to me for weeks!”

 

“I’m getting work done,” Brandon replies. He makes a move to grab his notebook, but Phillip lands on the floor beside him and grabs his shirt in handfuls. 

 

“You are in your own world, Brandon!” Phillip says, frantic. “Do you even know it’s October? The Halloween party is tomorrow night, not that either of us would go, but I’d think you’d at least mention it. Mention  _ anything  _ to me.”   
  


“We’ll have time to spend together, Phillip. These studies are just taking up a lot of — ”

 

Phillip drops his shirt but continues to stare him in the eyes, holding his gaze. “Do you even know what I’ve been doing? Have you asked?”

 

“Studying? Coursework?” Brandon suggests.

 

“I’m practicing piano, again. I’ve basically joined a band.” Phillip laughs. “Why in the world did I think you’d care?”

 

Phillip gets up off his knees, and departs to sit on his bed. Brandon gets up too, and moves close to him, hand finding one of Phillip’s knees, but it doesn’t excite him as it might normally. Maybe if Brandon is touching him because he wants to. Phillip feels his eyes start to burn and he looks down further into the dark wooden floorboards.

 

“Hey, hey, come now.” Brandon tips Phillip’s chin up with a finger. He rubs a thumb under Phillip’s wet eyelash where a tear threatens to fall. “I didn’t know you were so broken up about this. I seem to have lost track of time a little. What do you want, Phillip?”

 

“I want you to spend time with me because you want to, be with me because you want to. This is all you seem to care about as of late,” Phillip gestures under his bed towards the notebook and papers.

 

Brandon laughs, throaty and soft. “Jealous of some club assignments?”

 

“I’m not jealous about textbooks and paper. I assure you my temper is directed solely at  _ you _ ,” Phillip grumbles, but Brandon smiles like he’d just been complimented. 

 

“Can I come see you practice?” Brandon asks, rubbing a thumb over Phillips knee. Dodging the angry accusations, and diverting the situation, but Phillip will still always fall for it because deep down he wants to.

 

Phillip shudders. “Only if you want to.”

 

“You know I do.”

 

“Do you?” 

 

Brandon sighs, and takes Phillip’s hands in his, rubbing at his knuckles now. “Phillip, if I had the choice right now to decide if I could spent the rest of my time on this Earth with you, I would take it.”

 

Phillip thinks its a perfect time to ask about college, but can’t formulate the proper question when Brandon interrupts his train of thought.

 

“What’s this  _ band  _ you joined?” He sneers.

  
“Just a group.” Phillip says quickly. He’s a terrible liar, and he didn’t think he would ever get to the point where Brandon would ask to his face who he’s spending time with now.

 

“Who?” He asks the dreaded question and Phillip releases a shaky breath. Telling the truth is easier than a lie being divulged later along the line.

 

“Kenneth, his brother, and David.” 

 

Brandon’s thumbs stop rubbing at Phillip’s knuckles and he drops his hands.

 

“What?”

 

“I don’t exactly know anyone else, Brandon. I mostly wanted to talk to Kenneth, but then David suggested I be the pianist during their jam sessions.”

 

Brandon scoffs; bitterness falls over him like a sickness. “ _ David _ , you’re joking.”

 

“Brandon, it’s not as if I want — ”

 

“Phillip, it was just a year ago. Barely that. Don’t you remember what he did to us? To you? To me?” Brandon spins around, runs a hand through his hair. “Hell, you killed something just to get back at him. You strangled a damn chicken.”

 

Phillip opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes to mind. The resentment in the room had been tossed to the other man, as if they’re playing hot potato. Now Brandon is the one with the familiar dark gleam in his eye, and Phillip feels sick to his stomach.

 

“Brandon, he was perfectly cordial with me,” Phillip finally says.

 

“Hah!” Brandon throws up his hands. “Just months ago you were getting soap flung at your head in the shower. You were getting notes attaches to your bags which said ‘Fairy.’”

 

“It wasn’t so bad, Brandon, and — ”

 

“I got a nice black eye, did you forget that?” Brandon fervorously adds.

 

“Kenneth said David never meant for the rumor to go so far!” Phillip shouts back, feeling like he needs to raise his voice just to not be interrupted again. “It’s not as if he threw the soap, or that punch.”

 

Brandon stares at him, astonished. 

 

“Didn’t he?”

 

Phillip is silent, tightens his grip on his knees, and untightens in thought. After too long of a time without words, Phillip takes a deep breath.

 

“At least David was there when you weren’t.” 

 

The words strike a sour chord in Brandon whose eyes bulge with an astonished furor. Phillip begins to feel the familiar burning in his eyes again. Brandon is about as red as a cherry, and seems second away from snapping.

 

“I’ve been lost for the past couple months, and all you’ve been doing is spending time in your club and in your books. We have college to think about, jobs, our future. And you’re completely unphased at the loss of me, and I’m failing to see if you actually care about me of if I’m just one of your obsessions.”

 

Brandon is breathing heavily, and Phillip can tell he wants to argue and bite back, but is somehow making the rational decision to stay quiet. 

 

“What am I to you? You say you love me, but you can’t even apologize to me. You say you want to stay with me forever, but you haven’t been able to bear speaking more than a sentence to me as of late.”

 

“Phillip, that’s so far from the tru —”

 

“Then apologize to me.” 

 

Brandon groans, burying his face in his hands momentarily. “For  _ what? _ Enjoying my passtime? Going to Philosophy Club? Not speaking to you every five seconds? What do you want from me, I’m not a machine.”

 

Phillip hops off the bed and rears up on him. “You’re right, you’re not a machine. You’re a human being. Say you’re sorry for acting like a blockhead.”

 

Offended, Brandon purses his lips, takes a deep breath.

 

“If I apologize, will you stop hanging around with David?”

 

Phillip laughs dryly. “That’s  _ not  _ how this works.”

 

“Why not?!”

 

“Apologies shouldn’t have conditions!” Phillip exclaims. “You should be able to be sorry, it doesn’t have to be some big ordeal. You’re not lesser than me because you’ve been acting like an ass.” It may not be the smartest option for Phillip to appeal to Brandon’s philosophical side just to get him to say what he wants, but he goes for it regardless. “We’re  _ both  _ superior beings remember?”

 

Brandon raises a hand to Phillip’s shoulder, can’t look him in the eyes, but says, “I’m sorry, Phillip. I didn’t intend to hurt you.”

 

It’s still more than Phillip could have asked for. 

 

“Thank you,” Phillip whispers.

 

“Are we alright then?” Brandon asks. His hand has risen up, and he trails his fingertips up and down Phillip’s hipbone. Phillip takes a deep breath and nods. Brandon grips him firmer by the hips and draws him in for a hug. 

 

Phillip holds onto him a little too long, but Brandon doesn’t say anything about it, keeps holding him until he pulls back. Even presses a palm against Phillip’s cheek, looking him over like he’d nearly lost something expensive. 

 

“Phillip, I really don’t want you hanging around David,” Brandon says eventually.

 

“Probably not the best idea, anyway,” Phillip agrees. Brandon smiles, and leans down to kiss his forehead, lips lingering. 

 

“Take me away from my books so I can hear you play,” Brandon says softly. Phillip blushes and brings him down to one of the practice rooms in the music hall.

 

The rest of the afternoon before classes, Brandon sits beside Phillip on the piano while he plays Johan Strauss’  _ The Blue Danube _ . It’s not the most romantic song he can think of, but it’s the one that has required his full attention as of late, and if he plays it slow enough, it almost sound like a serenade.

 

Brandon slides his hand over Phillip’s leg at a point, and Phillip hits the wrong note during his next measure because of it. Brandon’s lucky the door to the practice room is locked, otherwise Phillip would give him an arduous lecture. 

 

When Phillip is done playing, Brandon runs a finger over the piano keys curiously.

 

“I’ve never cared about much about music before, but that was something else.”

 

“I’m thinking about going to college for music,” Phillip confesses. Brandon’s eyes widen, and he taps at the keys without pressing down on any of them.

 

Brandon takes a breath, and stutters. “College, huh?”

 

“Don’t tell me you’re not going.”

 

“No, no. I’m going. I just haven’t thought much about it.”

 

Phillip shifts on the piano bench. “It  _ is  _ Junior year, Brandon. It’s almost winter break again. I know we don’t have to send out letters to colleges until the end of this year, or the first semester of senior, but I think we should both figure things out, you know?” 

 

“Yes,” Brandon says. “Time flies, huh?”

 

“I’d like — ” Phillip’s cheeks go hot. “I’d like to go to the same college as you. I have no preference, you could go anywhere you like as long as it has a music program.”

 

“Phillip, were going to the same college,” Brandon assures, throwing an arm around his shoulders, tugging him into him slightly. Phillip swallows, opens his mouth, but Brandon continues. “I like you too much to let you go anywhere I’m not.”

 

Phillip has to bury a smile, and allows Brandon to kiss his neck.

  
  


* * *

 

David doesn’t go away. The next time Phillip is asked to join one of their band’s jam sessions, and he denies, David comes up to Phillip’s dorm to talk about it personally. Face to face.

 

Brandon isn’t in; he’s out talking to Rupert about a school book sale or something like that, and when Phillip opens the door and sees David he almost slams it shut.

 

“D-David.” 

 

“Hey, Phil.” David pushes by Phillip and walks into the middle of his room, hands in his pockets. He’s bouncing up on his heels in thought. 

 

“I was just going out,” Phillip lies. “Is this urgent?”

 

“You agreed to stick with us moving forward, Philly. Is there a reason you stopped coming to our jam sessions?” David asks outright. Phillip shifts awkwardly in place, glancing back and forth from David and the door, fearful Brandon will return. David certainly honors a man’s word, doesn’t he.

 

“I only went to one of them, just decided it wasn’t for me,” Phillip answers quietly.

 

“Nah.” David laughs. “I think you loved it, but you can’t get over what happened last year. You can’t get over what I did.” 

 

“That’s not true — ”

 

“If it’s not true, come play piano with us. Kenneth’s been missing you.” David is very adamant Phillip joins, he’s unsure why other than the breach of a semi-promise. 

 

“I can’t,” he replies with a simple finality. “I did enjoy it, but I can’t. I want to focus on my studies. That’s all, David.”

 

“Horseshit,” David says, but before he can say anything else Brandon’s voice travels from the door. Phillip swerves around, going rigid when he sees him leaning against the doorframe.

 

“David, how wonderful to see you. It’s been a while,” Brandon greets him. He’s not making any eye contact with Phillip, staring directly towards David in what only people who know Brandon could understand as a death glare.

 

“I came to try and convince Phillip to join our band again, but he’s being very stubborn.” David scratches his nose. “Say, Brandon, he does what you say, how ‘bout you convince him?”

 

Phillip feels ill and looks to Brandon, but doesn’t receive a response.

 

“If he’s saying he doesn’t want to David, then I think you should leave it at that. I’m not his keeper.” Brandon brings the stack of books he’s holding over to his desk to place them down. “I suggest you get going if you have nothing else to say. You wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself. Although, I suppose you couldn’t be more embarrassed than your concert last semester.”

 

Phillip nearly gasps. Brandon is walking on thin ice.

 

David makes a face, but this does nudge him to make his way towards the door. He clasps Phillip on the shoulder on his way out and whispers, “You’ll regret it.” Phillip can’t even tell if it’s a friendly prod, or an actual threat.

 

When David’s gone Phillip buries his face in his hands and slides to the floor.    
  


“What does ‘you’ll regret it’ even  _ mean? _ ” 

 

“I don’t know, but if he tries anything, he won’t live long enough for you to find out,” Brandon says darkly. Phillip ignores him.

 

“Why can’t I do things without offending people? I feel as if every decision I make somehow effects twenty people and their dogs.” 

 

“I’m sure you’re not offending their dogs,” Brandon says, more amused now. 

 

Phillip gives a short laugh. “You know what I mean.”

 

Brandon plops down on the floor beside him. He reaches out a hand, and Phillip reluctantly allows him to hold it, and squeeze reassuringly. 

 

“Don’t let him in our room again.”   
  


“He mostly just barged in all on his own.”

 

Brandon squeezes Phillip’s hand too hard in thought. Phillip shoves him with his shoulder, and Brandon doesn’t notice. A light bulb goes off over his head.

 

“Tell him we have asbestos in our walls.”

 

“You’re such an idiot,” Phillip groans. “No one would believe that. Tell me why I think you’re charming again.”

 

Brandon leans into him. “Who else is going to make sweet, passionate love to you?” He pushes Phillip to the ground despite Phillip’s meager attempts to push him off. He’s laughing as Brandon crawls over him and kisses him on his nose, and cheek, letting out a soft sigh when Brandon’s hands find their way to his hips, squeezing lightly. When Phillip slinks his arms around Brandon’s neck, the door to their dorm room opens. 

 

_ David _ . 

 

“Did you guys see a comb? I think I dropped — ” 

 

Phillip’s heart beats out of his chest, and he’s frozen in place unable to remove his limbs from where they’re wrapped around Brandon’s body. Brandon, however, is staring up at David in a morbid shock; Phillip can only imagine the look of horror on David’s face right now. 

  
It seems like it’s the next second the door slams shut and David is gone. 

 

“No,” Phillip mutters. “No, no,  _ no _ . What’s he going to do? Where’s he  _ going?! _ ”

 

Brandon scrambles backwards, grabs his keys, seems to ponder running after him and taps his fingers against his desk. “Calm down, I need to think.”

 

“He’s going to tell the Dean, and we’re going to be kicked out, and our mothers are going to find out. Oh god, Brandon, are they going to arrest us?” 

 

“Phillip, please!” Brandon nearly shouts. “I-I need to go find him.”   
  


“What will that do? Delay the process?” Phillip presses, delirious. He’s still on the floor, unable to move, and feeling similar to a puddle of spilt milk. 

 

“I’m going to convince him to stay quiet. Somehow,” Brandon decides, gripping his keys tighter, and then darts for the door. Phillip doesn’t have time to get up, but he lunges towards the door, just missing Brandon as he disappears.

 

The door slams in his face. “Brandon!” Phillip cries out, too late. 

 

It’s not going to work. Their lives are over. 

 

* * *

 

Phillip spends the next half hour pacing the room, kicking the bed posts, and nearly ripping the hair from his scalp. He can’t stop picturing his mother’s face if she found out he were with Brandon in the way that he was, if David is telling people they’re copulating on the floor like rabbits. If the  _ Dean  _ hears something like that.

 

He never thinks much about how who he loves affects every aspect of his life, and only now does think of the one word that has managed to stay out of his mind all these years.

 

Unfair. 

 

Phillip could walk in on David with any old skirt he’d found on the street, but David decides that he’s God when it comes to Phillip’s life and who he’s decided to be hand in hand with. 

 

Brandon comes back in the next second, immediately locking the door behind him. Phillip essentially corners him into wall, gripping at his wrists.

 

“What happened?” 

 

“Calm down, everything is sorted,” Brandon assures. He’s out of breath, and his hair is askew. “I had to chase him down a little bit, and he was determined not to speak with me or be in the same vicinity, but I wore him down and convinced him not to speak a word of this to anyone. I can promise you he won’t go to the Dean, but Phillip, I’m not sure how fast rumors will spread if he decides to tell his friends.”   
  


Phillip relinquishes his grip on Brandon, breathing out long breaths of relief. “We’ve handled rumors before, we can handle them again.”

 

“We shouldn’t have to,” Brandon says. “We’re superior beings.”

 

A laugh escapes Phillip’s lips and he feels himself relaxing. “Yes.” It takes Phillip a moment to realize in a way, this is all his fault. “Oh, Brandon, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have hung around David, I’m the reason he came up here and found us.”

 

“Hey, no,” Brandon takes Phillip’s face in his hands for a moment so that he looks up at him, then Brandon grips him by the shoulders. “This isn’t your doing. We’re both reckless. We’ll just remember to always lock the door, okay?”

 

Phillip nods, closing his eyes and focusing just on Brandon’s hands bracing him. 

 

“Phillip,” He says softer. “How about we do something we haven’t done in a while? Something bigger than we’ve done before. I’ve been too focused on work and you’ve been too out of the loop of things. We need to do something so brilliant that it’ll knock us both back into shape.”

 

Phillip wipes a tear threatening to fall from his eye. 

 

“What are you talking about, Brandon?”

 

“How about a little bit of arson? I’ve got a few matches left over from last time. We could go for something bigger. Something that might affect David? Or at least the school. The toolshed wasn’t the best choice last time. Maybe we can set a fire in the cafeteria?” 

 

Setting fire to the cafeteria isn’t in Phillip’s top priorities, but if it’ll make Brandon feel better, that’s the only motivation he needs. Perhaps Brandon’s right too, making a worse issue for someone else might help him forget his own problems. 

 

“Let’s do it tonight, Brandon,” Phillip answers, and earns an over enthusiastic hug in response. Phillip holds him and tries not to think of David. 

 

* * *

 

 

In order to get to the cafeteria, you must travel halfway across campus and through the music building, which means walking by the practice rooms. There are specifically five for piano, which Phillip uses on a regular basis, which is why it sparks his attention later that night when he and Brandon are walking by past midnight, and he sees the practice rooms with their lights on. 

 

“Curfew is ten,” Phillip notes. “Why are the lights on?”

 

Not only is the curfew ten, but Phillip has only ever seen one student besides him use the practice rooms, and he’d only been playing for fun. Not for a class, or for any type of band practice. When he sees Phillip stopped in his tracks, Brandon reluctantly stops walking, shoving his matches back into his pockets for the time being. “Maybe everyone’s breaking the rules tonight. All the better for us.”

 

“This is strange.” Phillip gestures for Brandon to wait. He goes over and opens the door to find the piano inside demolished to bits and pieces. Keys are scattered across the floor, and there is a pile of black wood almost looking like a lumber yard inside a room. Phillip makes an unbecoming noise which prompts Brandon to rear up behind him and peak over his shoulder.

 

“Christ,” he mumbles. Phillip pushes by him and checks the other rooms; each piano is in a similar state, unusable and unfixable. 

 

Nothing in this school occurs without others hearing about it in a days time. Everyone knows Phillip is in the practice rooms for as many hours as he can be without his eyes falling out of his head. This is a personal attack, he’s sure of it.

 

Brandon flicks the head of a match with his nail in thought. “With the amount of property damage this school receives, I’m surprised they haven’t been asking for more in tuition.” 

 

“David,” Phillip snarls, and kicks the wall so hard it leaves a small dent. 

 

“Easy there, Phillip,” Brandon warns, reaching out a hand to calm him, but Phillip pulls away and stares down the hall towards the cafeteria. 

 

“He’s not going to stop until we’re both suffering day in and day out.” Phillip grabs the match from Brandon’s hand, striking it on the wall, and throwing it into one of the piano rooms. It doesn’t catch fire. He reaches out his hand, and it takes Brandon a second to realize he’s asking for another one.

 

“Maybe he will,” Brandon says quietly, placing another match in Phillip’s hand. Phillip doesn’t respond, and strikes this one the same, getting closer and throwing it into the pile. It doesn’t catch fire. Phillip holds out his hand.

 

“This is the last one,” Brandon notes, placing it in Phillip’s hand anyway.

 

“He’s not going to mess with us anymore.” Phillip drops to his knees and makes sure one of the pieces of wood from the piano catches the flame, and watches as the flames spread higher and higher. 

 

Before the fire alarm can start blaring, Phillip speaks.    
  


“We’re going to hurt him worse than before.”

 

Brandon loops his arms around Phillip. He kisses his ear when the alarm rings. They escape back to their dorm without being seen, the adrenaline running through them making Phillip’s cheeks hot and his fingertips tingle. The talk around school the following day is all revolving the fire in the practice room, and not a word about how each piano was purposefully smashed to bits.

 

* * *

 

Winter 1940

 

“Stop, my mother might hear,” Phillip pushes at Brandon’s chest but Brandon places his kisses further down Phillip’s sternum, snatching one of his nipples between his teeth. “I mean it!” Phillip squeaks, arms flailing. 

 

Brandon pulls back with a sigh. “You’re so lame. Your mother has been too drunk to greet me for the past two days. She doesn’t even know I’m here.”

 

“She knows, she’s just celebrating.” 

 

“Celebrating what?”

 

“The holidays!” Phillip reasons. “I’m sorry she’s not like your mother. She’ll greet you at some point, I promise.”

 

There is a resounding groan mixed with a sigh. “ _ No _ , Phillip, I didn’t mean to make it seem like I was disappointed. Your mother is fine. The more she ignores us, the more time I have for you.” Brandon leans in again, slotting a leg between Phillip’s and presses his face into his neck, nipping at his skin. Warmth strikes in Phillip’s belly and he pushes Brandon again, to no avail.

 

“God, you’re an  _ elephant _ .” 

 

Brandon laughs. 

 

* * *

 

It’s the middle of February when Brandon finally comes up with something ideal. He bursts into their dorm, grin plastered to his face. Phillip is skeptical when Brandon runs over to his desk and closes his calculus book. 

 

“Phillip, I’ve got it.”

 

“Got what?” 

 

“The perfect revenge.” Phillip tenses, and breathes in sharply. They both agreed they wouldn’t go forward on any plan unless it was entirely personal, and much more effective than the bloody chicken ordeal. Phillip had been slaving weeks away trying to think of things, but he’s never been the most creative unless it has to do with music. 

 

“Lock the door,” Phillip reminds. Brandon catapults himself towards the door, locks it, and drags Phillip to his bed. He huddles close to him like a schoolgirl admitting a crush. His excitement is unmanageable.  

 

“I’ve discovered some information from Garrett Johnston about David. At the speed news around this school flies, I could figure out if the Chicago Bears are going to win the superbowl, Phillip.” Brandon laughs to himself, and Phillip nudges him with his knee to get him to continue. 

 

“David’s been preparing to ask a certain girl out for about a month. He met her downtown, a girl named Janet Walker. Apparently she lives in town, and she’s the daughter of a model and a fashion magazine CEO. Quite the person, yes?” Brandon asks. Phillip nods, unsure where he’s going with this.

 

“David’s got his eyes set on her. It would be a shame if something were to get in the way of such a romantic, ideal, collusion.”

 

Phillip narrows his eyes, trying to read Brandon. He’s not implying they  _ hurt  _ the girl?

 

“I step in,” Brandon says slowly. “And I ask her to go out with  _ me _ . How utterly pathetic do you think David would feel?”

 

Everything clicks into place. The plan is deviously brilliant, and Phillip has no reason to decline they go forward with it, but it leaves almost a virulent feeling in his gut. It may be a good thing they’ve been together so long, because Brandon can read him like a clock; he understands every tick and movement of his face and body. 

 

“We won’t actually be dating,” Brandon assures. “She’ll think we are for a few months, or less. I’ll call things off when the time is right, and David’s heart will be crushed along with what’s remaining of his dignity. Come on, Phillip it’s perfect.”

 

“You’re right, it’s perfect,” Phillip has to agree. “You’re perfect.”

 

“We’re perfect!” Brandon grins, and presses his forehead to Phillip’s. They start planning the details out now; they need to as quickly as possible. Brandon intends to strike before David does, otherwise the plan is a bust.

  
  


* * *

 

Janet Walker is by all means, the perfect woman.

 

She is a girl more mature than his own mother could ever dream to be, but with all the gall and independence of a professional fighting bull. 

 

He completely understands why any man would wish to claim her. He would, if he had any inclination towards the feminine creature. Most men would find her brazen attitude dangerous, and Phillip can’t understand why someone like David would even dare attempt to woo her with his fragile ego.

 

Phillip is there when Brandon asks her out; he does it in front of David, Kenneth, and Phillip in the local diner where they “happened” to run into her. Phillip doesn’t care about any interaction between Brandon and Janet; he’s solely focused on the expression on David’s face quickly starting to resemble that of a dog whose food had been stolen by another bigger dog. 

 

When Janet agrees, gladly and cheerfully, to Brandon’s proposition, David gets up and he leaves the diner. No one notices except Phillip. Phillip wonders if David had also been planning to ask her out today as well, that would certainly sweeten the revenge. 

 

As Brandon walks back over, Phillip thinks about how seeing David in such a disarray had been overwhelmingly satisfying. He looks forward to what else they can do. 

 

“She agreed to a date Friday night,” Brandon whispers to Phillip when he sits down. “At the mall down the street.”

 

He leans closer to Phillip’s ear so Kenneth can’t hear him.

 

“You should invite David to the mall too, we can accidentally bump into each other and freak him out.” Brandon pulls back, and then leans in again with an afterthought. “Invite Kenneth too, to avoid suspicion.”

 

Kenneth slurps obliviously at his chocolate milkshake.

 

A brutish smile begins to creep up on Phillip’s lips.

 

* * *

 

“You resemble a prairie dog, Phil,” Kenneth notes. 

 

Phillip’s sure he’s referring to the way he’s whipping his head around in all different directions; one might think he’s possessed. He stops for now, despite the temptation to continue scrutinizing the crowds in the mall for Brandon’s head. He’s the tallest person Phillip knows, and shouldn’t be this difficult to find.

 

“This mall is huge, why’s it so busy?” David grumbles when a woman and her kids push by him in a wild rush. 

 

Phillip’s been trying to get the two of them to go to the ice cream store at the west end of the mall, as Brandon had ordered him to stick close by that area, but when David saw the sports store, he got overexcited, and now they’ve found themselves on the east side, second floor.

 

Phillip hopes Brandon can be intuitive enough to connect some dots, and come to the stores that David would most likely be found in. For now, he sits in an uncomfortable folding chair in the food court, right in the line of view of the sports store. David had bought twenty dollar shoes, completely overpriced.

 

Then again, the three boys stick out like sore thumbs. In posh, high-end uniforms with tightly groomed hair and clear skin. Passerbys would either assume the truth, that they’re over privileged young private schoolboys, or up and coming stars of the stage.

 

“What trash are you all eating?” A familiar voice asks from behind Phillip, and before Phillip can turn around, his neatly combed hair is getting ruffled up by a large hand.

 

“Hey Brandon,” Kenneth says, and there’s a beat of silence before he adds, “Janet.”

 

“Hello Chums.” Janet’s voice is rather deep for a girl’s, but it’s not unbecoming.

 

“Sit down?” Phillip suggests, pulling out a chair beside him. He holds back a smile. “David, do you mind moving down one so Brandon and Janet can sit next to each other?”

 

David’s jaw clenches, but he does as he’s told. The chair he sits back down in makes a horrible creaking sound. Janet and Brandon sit down. Janet sits next to David, Brandon sits next to Phillip. Phillip tries not to make eye contact with Brandon, because he knows if he does, he’ll break down into a hysterical laughter. He already feels it at the base of his throat. 

 

Brandon reaches for Janet’s hand and she allows him to intertwine their fingers. David chokes on his drink, and Phillip cracks an uncontrolled smile. 

 

In order to save himself, and make it seem like he’s not laughing directly at David, he nudges Brandon with his elbow.    
  
“Janet, Brandon once fell flat on his face in the courtyard. Your date is extremely clumsy. Do you, uh, remember that Brandon?”

 

Brandon is giggling too, trying not to make eye contact with Phillip. To any normal person, they’d seem to be laughing about the memory, but David doesn’t seem to buy it. He gets up, and slaps Kenneth on the shoulder.

 

“I’m going to go get a coffee or somethin’, come with?” 

 

Kenneth nods, and follows David into the crowds of the food court. 

 

“He seems touchy,” Janet notes. 

 

“Always has been,” Phillip lies. David had adopted the touchy trait ever since he’d had the proverbial tar and feather experience. Phillip can’t say he blames him, but it doesn’t mean he likes him. 

 

Brandon doesn’t remove his hand from Janet’s red-nailed grasp, even though they’re alone. Phillip swallows, trying not to think about it too much. Most likely, Brandon just doesn't want to seem suspicious. He wants to build trust, Phillip understands that. 

 

“What is it you do, Phillip?” Janet asks, her brown eyes boring into him. He stiffens, unable to find words. 

 

“Oh, uh, well…”

 

“He plays piano,” Brandon says curtly. Janet beams.

 

“Oh you must play us something sometime,” She says, and leans into Brandon, wrapping her arm further through his. Tightens her grip on his hand. 

 

Phillip feels a spike of jealousy.

 

Tight-lipped, he tries to answer without sounding bitter. 

 

“Why not.” 

 

He’s apparently unsuccessful, because Brandon’s brow furrows down at him quizzically. Phillip doesn’t return his gaze, and the three of them remain mostly silent until David returns with Kenneth. They both have coffees in their hands. 

 

“Kenneth and I are going to get going, Phillip,” David says. “You’re free to come, or stay with these ones if you like.”

 

Well, this isn’t fun anymore. While Phillip would much rather be with Brandon, but the thought of staying alone with Brandon and his pretend-girlfriend churns his stomach, so he gets up and grabs his coat.

 

“See you back at Somerville, Brandon,” Phillip mutters. Brandon is staring at him, but he still doesn’t look back. A tiredness washes over him out of nowhere; he’d rather just get back to the room early and get some rest. 

 

“You must invite me to Somerville sometime,” Janet muses, squeezing Brandon’s arm. “It sounds lovely.” 

 

“For an all-boys school, it certainly is. But even that’s stretching the truth quite a bit,” Kenneth admits with a toothy grin. He throws an arm around Phillip when Phillip rears up beside them.

 

“Catch you later, Brando!” Kenneth calls out as they walk away. David doesn’t bother to verbally part ways, or even glance at Brandon for that matter. Phillip gets a bad feeling in his gut on the bus back to school, and it travels up into his heart. His skin is too hot and it feels hard to breathe.

 

Perhaps this isn’t the smartest plan.

 

When Phillip is laying on his bed staring up at the plaster ceiling later that night, alone and stewing in his own thoughts, he wonders why he ever agreed to it. Brandon pretending to be someone he’s not, Phillip being forced to watch him be all lovey-dovey with someone other than him. All in the name of getting one over on David? It’s barely been two days, and this plan is already affecting his mental state worse than it probably is David. 

 

Phillip wonders why Brandon isn’t back yet, it’s getting too late to be considered a normal outing. He thought the only reason they were at the mall was to spite David. 

 

They can’t very well call it off now. A two-day relationship is pathetic, and it would hurt Brandon’s reputation worse than the feather-incident hurt David’s. A month is the smallest amount of time that would seem relatively normal to break things off. 

 

What if Brandon doesn’t want to leave her? It’s certainly a thought rolling around Phillip’s brain like a putty that sticks to all surfaces. 

 

Brandon walks through the door later on while Phillip is still awake, soaked from head to toe. He shakes his head and water droplets fly from his hair, nearly reaching Phillip’s bedposts.

 

“We missed the last bus, and I had to walk.  _ Walk _ , Phillip.  _ Me _ .” Brandon shucks his dripping coat off and hangs it up on the hook hanging from the outer part of his closet.

 

Phillip silently watches Brandon strip down to nothing and quickly clothe himself with pajama bottoms and a white undershirt that sticks to his still-damp skin. He finally comes over to where Phillip is sitting up now and kisses him.

 

All of Phillip’s doubts dissipate. Just like that. 

 

“Someone was a tad jealous today, no?” Brandon asks. Phillip averts his gaze, staring down at the bedsheets where he fondles the fabric. 

 

Brandon presses his fingers deeper into the nape of Phillip’s neck.

 

“Don’t you trust me?” 

 

“Of course I do,” Phillip replies softly. 

 

“Don’t worry then,” Brandon kisses below his ear, and Phillip reaches up a hand to stroke through his wet hair. 

 

“David’s probably moved on and found another girl to focus on, Brandon.” Phillip closes his eyes when Brandon crawls up on the bed to get a better angle of Phillip’s neck, leaving small kisses just to the side of his shoulders. 

 

“So?”

 

“So, this plan can’t be executed to the fullest degree. I don’t think it should go on longer than a month,” Phillip says. Brandon doesn’t make any notion that he’s truly listening, hums against Phillip’s skin.

 

“If that’s what you want,” Brandon eventually says. 

 

“You’re the masterplanner here.” Phillip rolls his shoulder to get Brandon to ease off. “And you’re the one who is playing the role of the attentive boyfriend, don’t you have a say?”

  
“I don’t care,” Brandon says with a shrug. He lands on Phillip’s pillow, crossing his legs. “I’m good at pretending, I could do this for ages. Not that I would without reason. But, seeing David’s face today was so perfect. Don’t you think?”

 

“Yes, but it’ll wear off soon enough,” Phillip mumbles.

 

“Well,” Brandon lets out a deep sigh and closes his eyes. “Just say the word, and I’ll drop her in an instant.” 

 

Phillip swallows, and when he feels Brandon’s fingers dance above his hip bone, he says, “Not just yet. Let’s wait awhile longer.”

 

“That’s my boy,” Brandon drawls, and makes no sign that he’s planning to move from where he’s laid himself out. After a few moments of silence, Brandon pushes at his back. 

 

“Go lock the door.” 

 

* * *

 

They aren’t able to wrangle David away from the school again; he refuses to go back to the mall, or anywhere else for that matter. Phillip assumes it’s due to what happened the previous time, maybe he’s lost all his trust for his supposed ‘friends.’ 

 

However, Janet had voiced her approval for coming to Somerville, so Phillip and Brandon hold back on telling David Janet is visiting when they plan to have lunch together one Friday afternoon. 

 

“Afternoon, Chums,” Janet says when she shows up on campus, finding them strategically placed in the middle of the courtyard. David makes a face immediately, dropping his sandwich. 

 

“Janet, my dear,” Brandon greets, and helps her sit down. She folds her knees under her dress. It’s floral pink, and her hair is done up very prettily for the occasion. Kenneth goggles at her like any average red-blooded teenage boy; the only boy in the group who isn’t stricken with homosexual preferences, or pure personal resentment.

 

“Tell my friends what we did last weekend, Jan,” Brandon prods. He’s grinning at her, putting up a really good show of pretending to be in love. It’s nearly the same expression he makes at Phillip late in the night when they’re both facing towards each other on the same pillow. Nearly, but not quite. 

 

Janet begins to tell the story of their beach trip the exact way Brandon had told it to Phillip the week before. She finishes with a part Phillip hadn’t heard, though.

 

“He refused to kiss me even though the sunset was beautiful, and I said it would have been the perfect moment. Oh, Brandon, don’t look so bashful, we’re together aren’t we? I’ll wear him down don’t worry.” Janet winks to the group, and takes a sip of Brandon’s bottle coke. 

 

Brandon is biting the inside of his cheek. 

 

“Chatterbox,” Brandon grumbles, and it’s meant to come off as playful, but instead he sounds testy and uncomfortable. This doesn’t effect Janet, who smiles bright at the others.

 

“Any girls in your lives, boys?” She asks.

 

“We don’t see many beautiful girls because of where we school,” Kenneth explains. “Other than you of course.” 

 

“Thank you, Ken,” she answers with a pink lip-gloss smile.

 

Any normal boyfriend might have scolded Kenneth, but Phillip is amused to find Brandon staring down at his food grumpily, still bothered by her rendition of the beach story. 

 

David is completely unreadable, still an accomplishment in its own right. Better than complete indifference, but Phillip wishes he could see more of a reaction. 

 

In the next second, Phillip’s emotional state climbs from zero to sixty in nearly five seconds flat. Brandon kisses Janet out of nowhere, pulling away just as quick. She laughs and slaps his arm.

 

“You and your ego,” she muses, but her cheeks are a bit red.

 

Phillip feels sick, and he’s sure his expression is more devastating than whatever David’s is right now. They never specified that Brandon shouldn’t kiss Janet, and it doesn’t mean anything he’s sure, but he can’t be here right now. He’ll suffocate.

 

“I’m done,” Phillip says quietly. “I’m going to go back up to my room. Good to see you, Janet.” He chokes out that last part, gathers up his food, and quickly makes his way back towards the dorms. 

 

Brandon catches him half-way. Phillip hadn’t even heard him running.

 

“Hey, come on, you know that was just a method. It didn’t work, but I thought I might try, I don’t know. Why are you angry?”

 

“I’m not!” Phillip cries out. He realizes it came out almost like a shout, and he consciously lowers his voice. “Brandon, I’m not. I’m  _ not  _ mad at you, I’m mad at myself. I...I just want this to stop now.”

 

Brandon parts his lips, and his eyes shift back and forth on the ground.

 

“What?” Phillip asks. “I thought you told me to just say the word, and you’d be done with her.”

 

“Yes, and I’ll keep that promise. But give me a week,” he asks. “I have an idea.”

 

Phillip sighs. “Fine. Whatever. That’ll make it about a month anyway. After that, this is ending.”

 

“ _ Or else? _ ” Brandon asks dramatically, teasing. Phillip rolls his eyes, but Brandon’s charm rarely fails, and he lets Brandon clasp him firmly on the shoulder. They’re still outside after all, they can’t do much more than that. 

 

* * *

 

Phillip doesn’t see Janet for the rest of the week until the day before Brandon has promised he’ll end things. 

 

They’re in one of the refurbished practice rooms, only three now since the fire. And they’re ripping off each other’s clothes and falling into the chair in the corner of the room. It’s a tight space, but that makes it better.

 

Brandon with his collar awry, and top buttons undone, has fallen to his knees and is working his way through Phillip’s belt and fly like it’s wrapping paper on a christmas present. Phillip’s hand only just makes it into Brandon’s hair when the door opens, and Phillip freezes. 

 

_ Not again. _

 

When he looks up, and sees Janet’s expression of shock, he feels his heart pound of his chest harder than it had with David. 

 

“Oh.” The word sort of just slips out of Phillip’s mouth, his voice cracks deplorably.

 

Janet’s mouth is agape, but she closes the door, and Phillip can hear the click of her heels as she leaves the hallway. 

 

“We forgot to lock the door again,” Brandon observes, eyes glazed over. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Turns out Janet Walker is no David Kentley. 

 

After Brandon painstakingly explains everything to her, she isn’t happy, but only because she was used in some demeaning scheme against one of the boys she had assumed were their friends. 

 

About catching them in the act so to speak, she could care less. She even kisses Phillip’s cheek and tells him she’s sorry for stealing Brandon from him without knowing it, and that he deserves better. 

 

Brandon objects to this valiantly, but she steps on his foot hard enough to get him to shut up completely for at least two minutes.

 

What’s better, is that she asks Brandon to hook her up with Kenneth as penance for what he did. He has no issue with this, seeing as Kenneth has been into her since day one. It’s the least they can do for her considering everything, and Phillip even thinks that David will still be miserable. The plan can continue without Brandon forcing himself to play house with a girl he feels nothing for. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You’ve got your letters of recommendation?” Brandon checks. Phillip nods. “And your GPA and scores?” he adds.

 

“Yes, Brandon, everything.” Phillip laughs. “I swear.” He slicks the envelope with his tongue and seals it up, handing it to Brandon.

 

They’re only applying to one college, Columbia. Their mothers both know alumni and professors who work there. They’ll definitely be accepted in, with their mostly straight As and above four point o GPAs. There is no way that the school could not grant them acceptance. 

 

In the mail room, when they send their letters off together, Brandon looks around once, and then touches his fingertips to Phillips. There is no one around, so for a few more nerve wracking seconds, Phillip allows it. 

 

Next year is their last year in prep school. It all flew by so quickly, Phillip isn’t sure what to do with himself other than go along with Brandon, and wait to be accepted into college like any average educated American. 

 

He stares into the blackness of the mailbin, wondering if their letters will get lost beneath the hundreds of other letters written by students from Somerville. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> somehow i wrote this while i have like 3 essays and multiple finals i need to be working towards for college, thanks for continuing to read this horseshit if you are, i appreciate it!!


	5. 1940/1941

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's been 800 years!! some sexual content in this chapter fyi

Summer 1940

 

Red stretches over Phillip’s shoulder blades and down the front of his chest in bright streaks, contrasting offensively with his pale skin.

 

“Ouch!” He instinctively smacks Brandon’s hands away when they make contact with sensitive skin. It had been his first time at the beach, and the sun had _not_ been kind to him.

 

They’re back at Phillip’s townhouse now, and Brandon is attempting (painstakingly) to rub some lotion over the burns on his skin. Brandon himself had been extremely anal about sunscreen and in return, his skin is as clear as a freshly mowed lawn, but Phillip had never used anything of the sort before, and he didn’t see why he should start now.

 

Well, after this incident, he understands why such a lotion _may_ be beneficial.

  
“I can’t believe you’ve never been to the beach once. You didn’t say anything about that earlier,” Brandon says, finally lowering his fingers down just softly enough to spread the stuff around; it stings a little, but it’s manageable.

 

“I didn’t think I had to tell you,” Phillip shifts, hissing at the pain. “I haven’t been burned like this since I put my finger in a candle as a toddler.”

 

Brandon laughs. “That’s two entirely different burns. There, feeling better?”

 

Phillip winces as he stretches his arms a bit. He wonders when the burn will go away, he looks as if he’s transforming into tomato.

 

When he turns to face Brandon, Brandon bursts out into laughter, keeling over where he’s sitting criss crossed on Phillip’s bedroom rug.

 

“What?!” Phillip demands. “What is it?”

 

“Your nose is red too, you look like a clown.” Phillip punches Brandon in the shoulder lightly, and a few times more, until he stops laughing. Phillip smiles.

  
After a few moments, Brandon perks up in thought. “You think we can steal your mother’s foundation?”

 

“She’s much paler than me, I’d look like a ghost.”  


“An attractively sinister ghost.” Brandon pokes Phillip on the nose, and Phillip’s hands fly up to cover his face.

 

“ _Ow_.” He whines.

 

“Don’t be a baby.”

 

* * *

 

Brandon only stays with Phillip one week out of the months long summer. He needs to be back at the farm to help his mother with some real estate affairs, and he doesn’t want to overstay his welcome at the Morgan Townhouse.

 

Though Phillip’s mother would never notice.

 

Eva is still planning more parties by the second, and now that Phillip is slowly inching closer to the ripe age of eighteen, he’s beginning to tower over some of her long-term socialite “friends” who had bought him candy and treats when he’d been a toddler.

 

Even so, he dreads her parties, and counts down the last days until senior year.

 

One night in early August his mother knocks on his door. Never expecting a knock from her, he stands cautiously and opens the door. She’s not holding food, and she’s in her nightgown, ready for bed. He asks her what’s wrong.

 

Eva Morgan with her satin attitude, merely pushes past him, and he shuts the door.

 

“I visit you in your room and all you say is, _what’s wrong?_ ”

 

“What other reason would you be in here, if not an issue?” Phillip asks, and his mother’s smile is sardonic.

 

“I realized today I didn’t know if you were going into junior or senior year of high school. I had to look at my payment records to remember. Time’s been getting away from me.” She moves over to his desk, and her fingers ghost over his papers and pens. She adds, “Can’t a mother visit her son?”

 

“Not getting sentimental are we, Eva?” Phillip asks. He doesn’t feel one way or another about her lack of visitation, but something about her tone is at least making him consider all the times she’d never come to his door when he’d called.  

 

“That’s still mother to you,” She says wagging a finger at him only once. “You may be over six feet tall, but I still gave birth to you.”

 

Phillip smiles. “Five nine, mother.”

 

“Oh, what’s the difference when you’re five foot five, and breaching 40.” She pats the space next to her on his bed where she sits down. Phillip strolls over and follows her direction. The bed creaks.

 

“How’s Betty?” she asks.

 

“Who?”

 

His mother gives him a strange look, and the name suddenly returns to him.

 

“Oh! _Betty_ , well, we didn’t last too long, I’m afraid.” Phillip’s hands tighten around his knees, likely leaving bruising marks with the exertion. “She said I was too studious for her liking. We shouldn’t have got caught up in each other.”

 

They sit there in silence for a few seconds. His mother smiles to herself, and Phillip can’t tell if she’s pondering the Betty story or something else entirely.

 

“Where are you moving after college?”

 

“Mom, that’s _years_ from now,” Phillip exclaims. “Why are you thinking about such things?” As if he hadn’t been thinking about escaping this townhouse for a decade.

 

“I’m not kicking you out or rushing you, but you’re smart enough to graduate in half the time it would take other students. Never too soon to start thinking about these things. You know, it’s always cheaper to rent with someone else than by yourself. That friend of yours, Brandon, seems like he’d be a good roommate.”

 

Phillip swallows, grips tighter on his knees.

 

“Yes, maybe.”

 

Eva grins. “Talk to him about it, I’m sure he’d be game.”  


Phillip knows he’s game, as she’s putting it. But, he doesn’t dare admit to her they’ve already talked it over before. Several times.

 

“Okay, mother.”

 

Phillip is startled when his mother leans in to kiss him on the cheek before getting up to leave his room without another word. Phillip sits there for a few feeble minutes, wondering why his mother was acting so peculiar.

 

* * *

 

Phillip fears the worst when Brandon doesn't show up to their dorm room the first day. He barely sleeps. His fears subside when he receives a carefully structured call from Brandon the second day, explaining his Grandmother is fatally ill and Henry needs help around the farm, and he’s not sure when he’ll be back.

 

He’ll have to go it alone for a while.

 

Most upper class students would prefer to have a single rather than a double, after nightmarish experiences with previous roommates. No more snoring, slamming doors, or general irritation.

 

Phillip's always prided himself on not being a social animal, but now he feels more alone than ever. Every morning he wakes up to a barron mattress in his line of view. Similar to summer, but this time he doesn't know when Brandon is meant to return.

 

If he knew it was going to be months, he might not be so calm.

 

Two weeks in without Brandon, Phillip realizes he needs to focus on his studies and not worry about him. Brandon can handle himself just fine; Phillip can't be codependent.

 

Almost every upperclassman is beginning to search for jobs. Over summer, the normal thing for Phillip to have done would be to apply and look around for job openings, but he'd barely researched. He's swimming in wealth like most boys in Somerville, one of those boys who never even bother with financial aid. He doesn’t see the point of work, but he supposes it's better than phoning his mother for money whenever he needs more. He’s not immune to embarrassment.

 

One place he does know about offhand, is a Florist just down the street, on the outskirts of the city. Everyone is looking for jobs in the city, they wouldn't be looking here.

 

One of his mother's suitors has bought flowers from the shop, rather nice roses as Phillip remembers, though his mother hates roses. Phillip decides in the first few weeks of September he'll make his way down there and see what's going on.

 

It surprises him after he’s done a small interview that he gets a call almost a day after telling him he's got the job. Selling flowers, arranging flowers, delivering flowers. As if this school hadn't spread enough rumors about him. Without Brandon attached at the hip, no student has had the gall to say anything about Phillip's relations. He’s sure rumors of their breakup are scattering around, but Phillip doesn’t care enough to find out.

 

With work added on top of school, not to mention studying for senior finals, he doesn't have much time to think about himself or Brandon.

 

A few days go by where he manages not to think about Brandon at all, and then like clockwork, Rupert arrives with their letters. Normally, students receive their mail in the mailroom, so Phillip is skeptical when he opens his door to see Rupert with unopened letters with colorful stamps.

 

Rupert hands them to Phillip and Phillip nearly drops them. Letters from Columbia College. He had no clue that early admissions would mean early acceptance, or, rejection. He grips them tight.

 

"I've noticed our young Brandon has been missing as of late. Is his absence of great importance?" Rupert asks.

 

Phillip blinks. He feels a wave of satisfaction with knowing that Brandon hasn't told Rupert where he is. Only Phillip.

 

"Family emergency," is all Phillip musters. He moves to shut the door, but Rupert inches his big dark shoe in between the door and the frame.

 

"Make sure after you read your acceptance letter, you bring your copy down to the office so they can put your accomplishments on record." Rupert smiles and removes his foot as Phillip finishes shutting the door.

 

Had he actually complimented Phillip's intelligence?

 

Still, vile, coming from him.

 

Phillip looks back and forth between the letters in awe, and wonders whether he has the right to open Brandon’s without Brandon present. He decides to call him later in the evening. Brandon doesn’t pick up. He tries the next day, and Brandon still doesn’t pick up. A spark of worry ignites in his gut.

 

He calls Janet. He’s only spoken to her once since everything with Brandon had gone down. She is, of course, delighted to speak with him.

 

* * *

 

“He hasn’t told you where he is?” She asks. They’re outside on a campus bench the following week. She’s dressed up in a pretty pink outfit, for something important, she hadn’t disclosed exactly _what_.

  
“I know he’s up at the farm, something about his grandmother. I didn’t think family affairs took this long.” Phillip kicks a pebble towards the grass.

 

“It’s only been a month,” she replies.

 

“Nearly two at this point.” Phillip sighs, despises the way the words are coming out of hi mouth. “I’m sorry, Janet. I didn’t know I was this weak. I thought I was better than just harping on and on about being alone.”

 

“Oh, Phillip, you’re not alone,” She says with chuckle, tapping his shoe with hers. “But, If you love him, you have every reason to feel this way.”

 

“Love?” Phillip asks. He’s told Brandon he loves him. He thought that was what people together say to one another, but if love is more than what he thinks it is, does he have the maturity to admit that what’s between them is genuine love?

 

“Janet, we were kids when we met. I love him but I shouldn’t be dependent on him.”

 

“You’re still kids.” Janet lays a hand on Phillip’s shoulder, looking him in the eye with all the ferocity of a jungle tiger. “Listen to me, there is no shame in feeling lost without the person you love. They’re a part of you, and you have no choice in the matter. You can’t choose with whom you fall in love.”

 

Phillip stares back at her in wonder. She is right. As always. She’s the only person he’s ever taken advice from other than Brandon without feeling absolutely crummy.

 

“Coming from a girl who dates men by the hour?” Phillip asks playfully.

 

Janet snorts. “Especially coming from such a girl. Speaking of, I’m nearly late for an engagement I have with a _very_ lovely blonde boy who I’m assuming is _very_ punctual.” She gets up, and fear runs through Phillip for a moment.

 

“Not David, Janet.”

 

“Would it make you feel better if I said no?” She asks curiously. He doesn’t respond, but she seems to get the gist. “Well, you shouldn’t worry. It isn’t, at all.”

 

Phillip watches her adjust her hair and her purse strap. She leans down to kiss him on the forehead, and he tries not to crack as she walks away.

 

A different type of loneliness washes over him.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s the start of November when he begins to attend Rupert’s philosophy sessions again. Phillip could never make an excuse for himself; he only knows the room and the atmosphere reminds him of Brandon, and he’s desperate enough to give in to the pull.

 

Rupert is certainly surprised to see him. He pats the space next to him, as a sort of welcoming gesture, but Phillip walks over the the fireplace, sitting down in Brandon’s old spot, the spot that is directly parallel to Rupert.

 

Unfortunately, Brandon had been right about the club. They’ve gained many new members. At least sixteen attended this one alone, and this is a Monday night, not the most appeals of nights for a club meeting. He fears what Friday nights may entail.

 

The format of the club has changed slightly. They start with stories, one kid telling one about a silly pirate who lusted after coins and women equally, eventually legally marrying his chest of treasure. Completely bizarre. Another kid tells the story of _The Mistletoe Bough_. Something familiar strikes in Phillip’s chest, and is confirmed when Rupert says, “Did you get that story from Brandon, Michael?”

 

Michael is demure in posture and voice, and apologized for not being original.

 

Rupert laughs. “It’s alright. Brandon himself stole it from Sir Henry Bishop, anyhow. Not all of us can create such artistic stories such as...sorry Richard what was the name of that story again?”

 

“Pirates love booty.”

 

“Right.”

 

Phillip shifts in place, getting ready to leave as this has already dragged on for hours, but Rupert’s eyes land on him. “Phillip, tell us a story.”

 

“Come on, professor, he’s never here. I’ve been waiting to tell my story for weeks!” A ginger kid whines from where he’s awkwardly placed in front of the office door.

 

Rupert’s voice is full of shrouded irritation. “Nigel, I’m sure none of us want to hear _Snow White_ for the fourteenth time.” The rest of the group laughs.

 

Phillip swallows when the group goes quiet, waiting for him.

 

“I’m not sure I’m cut out to tell a story,” Phillip concedes softly, but Rupert’s gaze seems to coax something out of him. He’s not sure if it’s pressure or intimidation.

 

He’ll give Rupert what he wants.

 

“I guess I might have something,” Phillip clears his throat. “There is a student in Harvard college named Percy who lived alone most of his life, never once talking to another student, until…” Phillip trails off, trying to figure out something subtle. “A _girl_ , introduces him to the fruits of living, of loving. She takes him to the theater, she reads him books, and she kisses him on various occasions.”

 

Phillip takes a deep breath, his heart is beating out of his chest. Obviously, Rupert hasn’t seemed to have caught on, yet.

 

“Far along in their relationship, she becomes distracted, you see. Distant, cold, and isolating toward Percy. He eventually discovers she’s been having an affair with her professor.” The room gasps. “At first he feels betrayed, and humiliated, but then through further inspection, he realizes it was pure, revolting, manipulation on the professor’s part.”

 

Phillip looks up into Rupert’s eyes and his expression is unreadable.

 

“For she doesn’t love _him_ , she loves Percy, but her need for her professor’s approval, and praise, and acceptance, drove her to do anything. He knew his position of power over her, and he knew it’s not what she wanted, but it’s what she would do if he asked. And so he asked, and he took, and she was conditioned into being a toy.”

 

Phillip’s knuckles go white at his sides, he doesn’t suspend his gaze.

 

“Percy vows to destroy him, and while visiting his lover’s farmhouse, he practices wringing the necks of chickens, at first for fun, food for the dining table. But, Percy decides how lovely it would be to wrap his hands around the neck of the almighty professor, and one day after graduation, when the professor has long forgotten Percy and the issues he had personally caused, Percy finds him in his office, and does likewise to his neck what he had done to all those chickens on the farm. Closing around his neck as tight as the professor’s grip had been on his lover’s life. Beat, beat, and then his pulse is gone.”

 

Phillip is breathing heavily, not sure what else to do with the story. He realizes he’s forgotten something. “Oh, uh, the end.”

 

One kid claps slowly, and the others join in, one slaps his shoulder. “That was pretty good, Morgan, for your first try,” he says.

 

Rupert is staring him down, not in anger, but with a daunting curiosity. And, if he were a shrink, he might ask Phillip in an _oh-so_ condescending tone, “What do you think allows you to harbor all this resentment, Phillip?”

 

Instead he says nothing, at all. He waits for the children’s ruckus to calm down before he takes out a Nietzsche work, and begins to read, and analyze, and speak to the others as if Phillip weren’t in the room. As if nothing had happened.

 

It’s the first time Phillip is glad Brandon isn’t here. He feels he just gained a bit of closure, albeit at the expense of his own temper. The anger he’s brought back to life is still rolling around in his stomach, and he feels ready to burst.

 

When the club meeting is over, an hour after curfew, Rupert gestures for him to stay. Stiffly, Phillip waits for the last boy to file out of the office before he obeys Rupert and sits down on the couch.

 

It’s not as if he wants to, but Rupert is still a professor.

 

Rupert asks him if he would like a glass of water, but Phillip shakes his head.

 

Rupert pours himself some wine, wine Brandon has told Phillip he keeps in a safe under his desk. Wine Brandon’s apparently had quite a few swigs from. The administration knows nothing about it.

 

“I’d offer you a glass of this, but you’re not eighteen yet,” Rupert shows Phillip the wine bottle, an extremely expensive brand. On Rupert’s budget, Phillip’s not sure how he can afford it. Perhaps he comes from a privileged family.

 

Phillip doesn’t say anything, hoping he can go sooner if he remains silent. Rupert seems to be in no hurry. He leans back into the couch cushions.

 

“I was under the impression you don’t like philosophy, Phillip.”

 

“I do,” Phillip admits. “Having Brandon as my roommate gives me more than enough time to hear about it, but as of late‒”

 

“I understand,” Rupert cuts him off. “That was quite a story you told today.”

 

Chagrined, Phillip attempts to formulate a response. “Well, really, it wasn’t my‒”

 

“Would it be too bold to ask you to return Friday? I’d love to hear another tale from you. With refinement you could create something swell. It’s not often a student can craft such an original, intense, and detailed story. As you witnessed with Richard and his pirate story today.”

 

Phillip can’t help but chuckle at the memory of it. He’d been planning to come back either way. The meeting had been refreshing, but Rupert asking him personally to come back leaves him skeptical. What Phillip really wanted with that story he told was for Rupert to feel uncomfortable. He’s not sure it worked.

 

“Of course, Mr. Cadell.”

 

“Please, _Rupert_ ,” he says.

 

Phillip does not want to call him Rupert.

 

“Alright, R-Rupert.” The name feels bitter on Phillip’s tongue.

 

Rupert gestures to his office door to signal they’re done. Phillip goes back to his room and can’t find a comfortable position to sleep in. After a night of vigorous tossing and turning, he wakes up the next morning with a backache and less than three hours of rest.

 

He tries to call Brandon for the remainder of the week, and isn’t successful until Thursday night. When Brandon picks up, his voice is hoarse and tired. He sounds weak.

 

“Brandon?” Phillip asks. “It’s me.”

 

“Phillip!” Brandon’s voice picks up just enough that Phillip can’t help but smile brokenly.

  
“I’ve been trying to call you for weeks and weeks.”

 

“Apologies, Phillip. A lot is going on up here. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

 

“Shh, don’t apologize, Brandon. I just wanted you to know I have our letters from Columbia. I haven’t opened them, I was waiting for you, but‒”

 

“You haven’t opened them?! Phillip, you must have received them months ago.” Even through Brandon’s exhaustion, he’s managing annoyance at his lack of control.

 

“I don’t mind waiting,” Phillip replies softly. He’s glad Brandon isn’t here to see him beaming over the mere presence of his voice, he’d probably call him foolish.

 

“Can we open them over the phone?” Brandon asks. “I have a few minutes to spare. It’d be good for you to see the results sooner rather than later.”  


Phillip puts the phone down and scrambles for the letters in his desk drawer, he comes back and holds the phone on his shoulder with the side of his head. “Okay, are you ready?”

 

Brandon hums, and Phillip rips Brandon’s letter open.

 

“You’ve been accepted,” Phillip says with a grin, glancing over the body of the acceptance letter. Brandon doesn’t say anything and Phillip opens his own. “I’ve also been accepted. We’ll be in college together, Brandon.”

 

“Good,” Brandon says assertively.

 

“That was underwhelming.” Phillip lays the acceptance letters gently on the middle of his desk, and throws the envelopes in the garbage. “Brandon, I miss you,” he adds.

 

Brandon is silent for a few arduous seconds, and then he replies warmly, “I’ll be back the second I’m able. Hang in there, Phillip.”  


Brandon is only free for another minute or so, and then he’s whisked off, the phone making a buzzing sound when he hangs up.

 

Phillip closes his eyes and keeps the phone pressed up against his ear, the cool plastic a heavy weight against his skin.

 

* * *

 

Phillip returns to Rupert’s sessions, all the way up to the week before Christmas break. Rupert hadn’t pulled him aside for a personal talk again, and now for once Phillip is beginning to understand what Brandon finds so appealing about the meetings. Listening to the stories these boys make is soothing, as ridiculous as they are. It adds to a certain kind of serenity. Phillip doesn’t feel lonely here.

 

Even now, listening to this story from a boy named Lewis, involving a toilet, a sledgehammer, and a fire all in one, makes him feel a little less barren.

 

The group claps when he’s done, and unfortunately it’s the last story of the night. Phillip expects to leave without another word, but Rupert pulls him aside, gripping him by the shoulder. It takes everything in Phillip’s power not to shrug him away violently.

 

If it’s not Brandon (or Janet on special occasions), he doesn't like to be touched. Especially by Rupert Cadell. He stiffens, stands, and waits impatiently.

 

Rupert’s arms are slowly crossing, and he towers above Phillip. He must be over six feet, Phillip thinks. “Phillip,” he drawls. “Brandon has skipped an entire semester. I worry for his future, academically.”

 

“Last time we spoke over the phone, he told me he was doing all of his schoolwork from home. The Dean understands why he’s gone. He’s got good reason,” Phillip responds.

 

Rupert places a hand under his chin in thought.

 

“A reason I still do not know of.” He says this as if he has the privilege to know.

 

Phillip shrugs. “Ask the Dean.”

 

“As long as Brandon is handling everything well. I don’t doubt his intelligence, I’m sure he’ll be fine. We wouldn’t want you two to be, uh, _seperated_ during college, would we?”

 

Phillip bites his tongue, tries not to roll his eyes, or do anything to display his distaste of the conversation at hand.

 

“It’s been very quiet without him at these meetings. I’m sure you’ll encourage him to return, once he gets back of course.” Rupert’s blue eyes have an unappealing burning quality to them. It forces Phillip to stare at the rug.

 

“I’ll try,” Phillip says.

 

“Alright then, Goodnight.” Rupert slaps him cordially on the shoulder, pushing him towards the front door. Phillip leaves in a hurry, gripping his dorm key in his hand. The walk back to his room is snowy, and cold.

 

Despite his recent acclimation to the club routine, he is overcome with a sudden urge to never see the inside of Rupert’s office again.

 

* * *

 

He manages to catch Brandon at a good time the first week of winter vacation. Brandon sounds more chipper over the phone, or rather, more like himself than he had their previous call.

 

“My family and I are a tad busy, as we’re going to be for a few weeks, but mother would very much appreciate it if you were to come up to the farm the week before second semester. I’ll explain why when you get here, is that alright Phillip?”

 

Phillip is jubilant, but he tries not to come off as overeager.   


“Of course, Brandon. I’ll be there.”

 

“Phillip,” Brandon says before he hangs up. If Phillip didn’t know better, he’d say Brandon sounds timid.

 

“Yes?” he asks.

 

“I miss you too.”

 

Brandon hangs up, and Phillip bites his lip. He’s feeling light in the head with affection for the first time in a while. Perhaps Janet had been right about her whole love spiel.

 

* * *

 

Phillip is driven by his mother to Brandon’s farm, quite a gesture from her, considering she usually just throws him a thick wad of cash for taxi fares.

 

When Eva parks outside the farmhouse, she reaches over to brush Phillip’s hair back.

 

“Be good.”

 

“Please,” He says with a smirk. He gets out of the car, grabbing his suitcases from the trunk, and hauls them over to the dirt path leading up to the house. Brandon comes out of the front door; he must have heard the car.

 

Phillip swerves around, and when they make eye contact every muscle in his body is forcing his limbs forward, but he plants his feet firmly on the ground. His mother lingers, but she eventually starts the engine again, and drives away. Brandon watches her go and Phillip can see it in his eyes when he watches the last part of her car disappear into the morning fog, because he turns back around, with his signature grin.

 

Phillip runs toward Brandon who’s waiting for him with open arms.

 

“Where’s Henry?” Phillip asks, burying his face into the crook of Brandon’s neck. He feels like an animal, unhinged. He can’t pry himself away.

 

“Not here right now,” Brandon whispers back. He drags his lips over Phillip’s forehead like Phillip is the sun and he’s been locked in a dungeon for a decade. Pulling back suddenly, he crushes his lips against Phillip’s in the wide open countryside air blowing past them on Brandon’s porch. Phillip grips onto Brandon tighter.

 

“I love you,” Phillip says. “Truly, I mean it, Brandon.”

 

Brandon stares at him with a sad smile, and he nods slowly. “I know Phillip, I know.” Phillip thinks for a second he might feeling the opposite, but he says. “I love you too. These past few months have been my own kind of hell.”

 

Phillip places a hand on Brandon’s soft cheek, rubbing a thumb over the sensitive skin beneath his eyes. Brandon stares back at him in the way that he does. Like he’s never seen anything more refined and delicate.

 

“C-Can we talk inside?” Brandon asks, he tugs Phillip by the sleeve, and leads him into the warmth of his home. The fireplace is lit beside the couch.

 

They settle down, and Phillip takes Brandon’s hand, unable to believe he’s holding it again. Time passes by so slowly when Phillip is alone. He runs his thumb over Brandon’s knuckles, gazing down numbly as Brandon speaks.

 

“The truth is Phillip,” Brandon stutters. “My mother isn’t going to be back home this week, I’m not sure _when_ she’s coming home. She left for the funeral yesterday morning. She needs me to take care of the farm while she’s gone, which is why she suggested you might be able to come up and help. Of course, she could hire someone. She has a few men she’s hired before, but they’re all unavailable right now, and she doesn’t trust anyone else with the animals, you see.”

Phillip’s eyes dart up. “Yes, of course, I’ll help with anything. But, funeral, Brandon? For your Grandmother? You didn’t tell me.”

 

“I know how you get when you worry,” Brandon says with a smile that Phillip can only assume is hiding a significant amount of pain. “You know now. I’ll admit, selfishly, I was very happy to hear that this was my mother’s first suggestion.” He presses his forehead against Phillip’s, who presses back.

 

“David hasn’t said a word to me this entire semester,” Phillip says softly.

 

Brandon laughs, and Phillip can feel his breath on his lips.

 

“C-Coward.”

 

“Can we stay like this for a moment. I’ll help with anything you need, I just, want to stay like this for a while,” Phillip says. Brandon pulls Phillip down on the couch until they’re lying horizontally, and Brandon is holding Phillip to his side.

 

Phillip closes his eyes and focuses on Brandon’s scent, most prominent in the crook of his neck. Phillip places a soft kiss above his collarbone as a thank you.

 

The house is quiet save for the ticking clocks and the roaring fire. Distantly, he thinks he hears a record playing upstairs.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They both fall asleep, and when Phillip wakes up, he’s shocked to see it’s already three pm. They need to hurry up and tend to the animals, and the crops.

 

He shakes Brandon awake, who smiles up at him with half closed eyes. He runs a hand up Phillip’s back from under his shirt. As much as Phillip appreciates it, he says, “It’s three.”  


Brandon’s eyes bulge comically. “Shit.”

 

* * *

 

Taking care of the farm without Mrs. Shaw’s help is a task much more difficult than Phillip had been prepared for, but he works as hard he can. It’s worth it to expend all his energy, and then lie against Brandon in bed that night and not worry about anything.

 

One night, towards the end of the week, they both lie awake. Brandon staring up at the ceiling, and Phillip tracing circles over his ribs.

 

“Were you close to your Grandmother?” Phillip asks carefully. He knows Brandon doesn’t like to become sentimental, or act weak. He might just brush him off, or not answer.

 

“Yes.” When Brandon confirms the question, Phillip is surprised.

 

“I’m sorry,” Phillip says.

 

“Don’t be, she was old.” Brandon lets out a deep sigh, and Phillip swears he feels Brandon’s heartbeat slow in his chest. “I’m tired.”

 

“Sleep,” Phillip responds. Brandon does, after a minute or two. His eyes are closed and Phillip kisses Brandon’s chest, glad to have him if nothing else.

 

* * *

 

Brandon cheers up fully when they’re on their way back to school. Starts to act like his normal, overly charismatic self.

 

Phillip only sees Mrs. Shaw in passing, on her way back inside the farm house. She gifts Brandon and Phillip both with kisses to the cheek, but her vigor and openness has been drastically cut in half. Most likely her mother is the one that had passed. Phillip can’t wrap his brain fully around a loving family. He knows his grandma from the expensive cards of money she sends him during Christmas and on his birthday. He’s seen her once or twice at parties. If she dropped dead, he wouldn’t bat an eye.

 

When they’re in their dorm, Brandon is halfway through rambling about the latest news on the war. Soviet invasion and political corruption was always something that seemed to excite him. Phillip’s never cares much for war, nor the concept of it.

 

“I mean they’re idiots, Phillip. Just idiots. They think they’ll go down in history for being radically conservative. It’s laughable, I think r-really, t-that‒”

 

“Janet and Kenneth are officially dating,” Phillip interrupts while they unpack.

 

“What?!” Brandon pokes Phillip on the shoulder. “Since when?”

 

“End of November, I believe. I heard it from some rumors around school, and she told me herself she was going on a date with a punctual blonde boy.”

 

Brandon huffs. “Taking my girl is he?”

 

“Your girl? You’re the one that suggested to Kenneth he ask her out,” Phillip deadpans.

 

“You know what I mean. The honor code and all that, Phillip. I may have _suggested_ it but he shouldn’t have _accepted_. He deserves to pay for it if he thinks I’ll do nothing about it.” Brandon lights a cigarette and dangles it between his lips.

 

“Oh, Kenneth’s no harm.” Phillip slouches down to grab his bed sheets from his suitcase. “Not worth the effort, either.”  


Brandon seems antsy all around. And, he seems to have forgotten Janet dating Kenneth means they’ll be able to see David miserable.

 

“Perhaps not.”

 

Brandon hops up on his bed which is not made yet, just a plain old mattress. “Who _would_ be worth the effort, Phillip?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I want to do something dangerous. I need you to tell me who deserves it, my mind is too clouded right now to decide. And, I’ve been away for a while. Refresh me.”

 

“Brandon, it’s barely been twenty minutes we’ve been back on campus. Can we slow things down?” Phillip avoids making eye contact, and attempts to fold his clothes into his drawers.

 

Brandon groans impatiently. “Give me a name, don’t be a child.”

 

“For god sake, why?”  


“Just do it!”

 

“Nigel Hemsworth,” Phillip snaps. “He bothers me.”

 

“Hold on, Nigel from Philosophy Club?” Brandon questions.

 

Phillip sighs. “If you like him, _you_ choose then. I don’t have anyone else.”

 

“It’s not that, but how do you know him?” Brandon’s eyes widen when he can read plainly on Phillip’s face what this means. “You’ve been going to the club, haven’t you?”

 

Phillip turns back around and begins tossing his clothes in drawers, no longer bothering to fold them. He can hear Brandon hop up to his feet.

 

“Wow, Phillip.”  


“Oh, be quiet.” Phillip feels uneasy. Brandon’s barrage of demands had been unusual. He’s never usually this eager to commit a crime or humiliate someone. Perhaps being gone for the semester had given him some sort of withdrawal.

 

“Do you like it?” Brandon stutters.

 

“If I didn’t I wouldn’t have gone so often. But, it was only because it reminded me of you. And, I thought it would be what you wanted.”

 

“How sweet,” Brandon croons.

 

“Don’t mock me. You’re the one trying to pressure me into your misconduct on day one.” Phillip doesn’t flinch when Brandon rears up behind him and places his hands on his shoulders, rubbing and pressing to calm him.

 

“I’m sorry,” Brandon apologizes. Phillip swallows a gasp. All on his own he’d apologized, no coaxing or badgering necessary. Anyone who says death in the family isn't at least a smidge humbling is wrong. Brandon kisses his neck to top it off. “I’m just stressed. You know how a little delinquency always calms me down.”

 

“You’re the only person I know who feels calmer after a felony.” Phillip means to sound irked, but he’s blushing. Brandon wraps his arms around Phillip’s waist, and his lips find their way to his ear.

 

Brandon hadn’t been in the mood for this back at the farmhouse.

 

“We won’t bother Nigel. There’s other things that destress me.” Brandon’s tone is sultry, and he pulls Phillip tighter against him, kissing just in the right spot under Phillip’s ear that makes his chest tighten.

 

“You sure you’re up for it?” Phillip asks breathlessly. He doesn’t want Brandon to feel obligated to give him anything, especially after what had happened in his family, but if what Phillip can feel pressed up against him is any sign, he’d say Brandon’s fine.

 

“Is that a challenge, Phillip?” Brandon bites at Phillip’s collarbone, and begins to pop the buttons on his shirt with one hand, the other reaching between Phillip’s leg. Any other complaint Phillip might have had, disappears.

 

* * *

 

Phillip had been ignoring David the first semester of senior year. There seemed to him to be no reason for watching, observing, or even enjoying anything related to his demise without Brandon at his side.

 

Now that Brandon is back however, he’s already planning times to spy on him, and Phillip’s following along like a puppy on a leash. Just doing as Brandon says.

 

It’s what he’s best at.

 

He doesn’t go to another club meeting despite Brandon’s wishes. He’ll go along with everything except that. Going in the fall was a desperate endeavor to feel close to the Brandon despite the absence, but now that he’s back, he won’t ever have to smell that musty rug and feel the warmth of the fire so near to lapping at his sensitive skin.

 

Despite the fact Brandon had been keeping up with his studies and workload at home, he’s stressing trying to catch up. He studies extra hard, despite already having been accepted into college. Phillip knows he likes to get the best grades in class, the best grades are usually read out loud by the teacher, or the students somehow find out about it. Brandon needs his cleverness to be known. Phillip is clever, but he’s rarely in the best three, maybe best five.

 

It’s not long before final exams are approaching, and Brandon is cramming harder than he had been before. Phillip admits he himself has been subject to what Kenneth and David have dubbed as ‘senioritis.’ Perhaps his grades may suffer slightly from it, but he’s smart enough to at least pass without so much as a glance at his textbooks.

 

Instead he relaxes, gives in to the cruel god of procrastination, and watches Brandon slave over textbooks and articles. In a way, Phillip thinks Brandon takes some sort of sick pleasure in burning the candle at both ends. He’ll never know why, just that Brandon doesn’t do anything unless he does it perfectly.

 

Phillip isn’t sure he should admire that, or pity it.

 

* * *

 

Spring 1941

 

Brandon bustles into their dorm room, slamming the door shut in his rush, and leans back against it like he’d just run three marathons and an extra mile.

 

“Tests over?” Phillip asks, poking his nose over the book he’s been reading for the past two hours. There are multiple exam times, and his had been yesterday.

 

“Yes,” Brandon exhales. He takes out a cigarette, a shaky smile forming on his lips. “I may have not needed to study so hard.”

 

Phillip knows this. He hadn’t studied a word, and he’d bet his life that he aced the test. Brandon walks over to Phillip’s bed, a puff of smoke dissipating around the space above Phillip.

 

“Just promise me you’ll never study like that in college. There were veins popping out of your head.” Phillip reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Brandon’s ear.

 

“It’s not like I need to study anyway,” Brandon’s head tilts to one side, thinking in hindsight about his own intelligence. He hops up on Phillip bed to sit cross cross, continuing; “This proved to me that I can surpass anything without trying. A _true_ superior.”   


“You can say that again.”

 

“You did well you think?” Brandon asks. The stench of cigarette smoke is suffocating, but Phillip doesn’t mind it.

 

“Very much so.”  


“See? Naturally.”

 

* * *

 

Brandon throws his newspaper to the floor. “Why the _hell_ has he been so quiet?!” he shouts. And as the pattern goes, out comes the cigarette case.

 

Phillip is holding his new robes up to his chest. They seem a little big, but he also hasn’t tried them on yet. He doesn’t understand why Somerville’s school color is brown. Graduation is going to look like a mud pile.

 

“Who?” he finally asks.

 

Brandon has a habit of shouting out random thoughts, as if Phillip had been reading his mind for the past five minutes, and knows exactly what he’s talking about.

 

A cigarette is already lit in Brandon’s mouth, and he’s sulking in his frustration.

 

“David, of course.”

 

“It’s senior year, Brandon,” Phillip says with a sigh. “He’s probably focusing on graduation. It’s in two weeks, afterall.”

 

“I can’t believe it’s come so soon,” Brandon says, as if he’s just realizing they’ll never have any reason to step foot on Somerville’s campus ever again. He sits silently, watching Phillip slip back out of the robe, and button up the shirt he had on before.

 

“Well, it fits.” Brandon is looking at him strange. Phillip cocks his head.

 

“What is it now?”

“Nothing,” Brandon shifts, focuses on his cigarette.

 

“I know you, Brandon. What is it?”

 

Brandon smirks, and when Phillip is close enough he drags him in by his shirt collar, just close enough to brush his hair back with his hands and trail them down the curve of his back. “How about one more thrill, Phillip?”

 

Phillip chuckles nervously. “What do you mean?”

 

“Our last crime at Somerville can’t be arson, that’s no fun. How about we do something risky? Something personal.” Brandon’s eyes are glistening with ideas, and Phillip is irrevocably _tired._

 

“Brandon, how about we just tough out the last few–”

 

“I want to steal something of Rupert’s,” Brandon says.

 

Phillip’s words get caught in his throat. His attention is captivated. Causing Rupert some level of demise had never crossed Phillip’s mind in the category of things he’d ever see Brandon willing to do.

 

“Yes,” he answers automatically.

 

“I want to steal something from him,” Brandon stutters, going on as if he’s been thinking about something like this for a while. “Something important.”  


“Money or an award?”

 

“No. No, something he likes, doesn’t want to be without, but holds no value to the average person. Something that would gut him in a way other than monetary loss. Can you think of anything, Phillip?”

 

“Don’t ask me, you know him better than I.”

 

“But, you notice details more than I do. You’re always watching everything but the conversation. You watch the background and the movements of people. I get caught up in the words, and I miss my surroundings,” Brandon admits.

 

A smile forms on Phillip’s face. “Was that a compliment?”

 

“You’re not changing the subject,” Brandon mumbles. He kicks Phillip lightly on the hip. “Can you give me an answer?”

 

Phillip thinks hard for a few moments, back to the last club meetings he attended, watching Rupert talk. And he always watched Rupert, rarely  took his eyes off him for more than thirty seconds. It was the magnetic pull of hatred. Yes, Phillip can think of one thing that appears more than a few times in his memories.

 

“His cigarette case, it’s long and gold, and he only has the one. It looks handmade, but not too expensive. He keeps it close to him, always in the suit jacket the school issues to him. I can assume he leaves the jacket in his office, I’ve seen him leave without it on many occasions.” Phillip feels a rush when Brandon leans in and kisses him on the forehead.

 

“I can always count on you,” He says. “I’ll figure out what day after the club we can break into his office. Oh, Phillip, this may not seem too exciting to you but this will be our best one yet. We’ll never forget this one, neither will he. We’ll make it so he doesn’t.”  


“Yes,” Phillip is slow to say. “Yes, I believe you.”  


 

* * *

 

Phillip stands outside Rupert’s office door. The tiniest noise forces his teeth to grind and his head to swerve from right to left. He hates being the watch, but for this sort of job, you need a watch, otherwise both parties are in big trouble.

 

Phillip knocks three times on the door to signal ‘Hurry up, but there is no imminent danger.’ He whistles to himself, a squirrel running by his feet causing him to jump up and nearly shout. Instead he yells, “Brandon hurry up!”

 

Brandon come out twenty seconds later, the case in his hand, he slips it in his coat pocket, and they walk back to their dorm. Inconspicuous as ever.

 

The crime had been accomplished in under ten minutes.

 

When inside their room, and the door securely locked, Brandon jumps his bones, always overeager after a crime. It’s like every nerve in Brandon’s body lights up for at least an hour after the act, and if Phillip is anywhere in proximity, he’s foolish to try and resist him, not that he ever has.

 

Later Phillip is sitting in Brandon’s lap, holding fiercely onto his shoulder blades rippling under moving skin, Brandon speaks just above his ear through panting intervals.

 

“It’s just us against the world, Phillip,” he stutters. He holds Phillip tighter to his chest with one arm, and the other disappears between them to wrap around Phillip and bring him closer to the desperate edge Brandon’s also been teetering on. “One day, we’ll live in our own apartment. We’ll own a huge piano, a huge couch, a huge kitchen, anything you want, I’ll make sure we have it. And no one can stop us, Phillip, we’re superior, we can do anything.”  


Phillip moans softly, burying his face in Brandon’s shoulder as he’s nearly dismantled from Brandon’s lap. He’s ignoring the words to the best of his ability, just focusing on the sensations. He begins to lift up on his own, and grind back down to get what he wants.

 

Brandon doesn’t notice. He’s speaking against his cheek, his breath hot against Phillip’s skin.

 

“We’ve stolen from the intellectual today, Phillip. We can get away with anything. We can steal, we can burn, we can maim, we can…” He pants harshly, hips stuttering up. “We can _kill._ ”

 

Phillip comes in that moment, hand fluttering down between them to join Brandon’s hand in bringing him off. He accepts the furious kisses following this. He’s carefully lowered onto his back and pressed into again. He closes his eyes.

 

Later after Brandon had finished, Brandon tucks the cigarette case they’d stolen into his suitcase. Phillip wonders where he’ll keep it when he gets back to the farmhouse, or if he’ll use it. When Brandon climbs back into his bed and wraps Phillip in his arms, Phillip decides to forget about the case.

 

He doesn’t think about about the final comment Brandon made.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s graduation.

 

Phillip’s mother actually shows up. Brandon’s mother shows up, of course. She seems happy, or at peace. The mothers sit beside each other. This couldn’t give Brandon and Phillip more stress, and Phillip feels his stomach in knots the entire evening.

 

Pomp and Circumstance is played by a professional orchestra. It's far too loud and comical to be tasteful, but some monkey-brain students seem to enjoy it if the incessant tapping feet and snapping fingers all around them is anything to judge.

 

On stage, administration go through multiple speeches about policies, and courage, and all that mumbo jumbo about having an independent outlook towards the future. It takes up at least a half hour before they begin calling names.

 

Which also takes far too long.

 

“Phillip Morgan." His name is eventually called by the Dean, and he strolls over to the auditorium’s slightly oversized stage in his brown robes that are also slightly oversized.

 

The stage lights hurt his eyes, and he shakes hands with all of the staff, men and women he’s never met before except for his own housemaster Rupert, thanking them for an education they never gave him.

 

Finally, he shakes the Dean’s hand and receives his diploma.

 

Phillip notes that Rupert is looking awfully distraught, and absent of a cigarette case. He tries not to laugh on his way off the stage.

 

He waits with the other students in the dark, watching Brandon eventually take his diploma. He is so charismatic, even throwing an arm around the Dean who accepts the gesture gladly. Phillip would have pegged the Dean as the no-touching type, but Brandon can bend anyone to his own personal whims.

 

Brandon breaks the rules of staying in alphabetical order and squeezes in beside Phillip as they file back on stage. When a whistle blows, they throw their hats in the air. Through the madness, Brandon takes Phillip’s hand in his.

 

For a few clear moments, they’re holding hands in front of over a thousand people, spotlights shining on them, and Phillip’s throat goes dry. Then laughs when Brandon takes his hand away. Brandon will do as Brandon pleases, and he’ll never let Phillip have one second of tranquility.

 

No one notices their moment of intimacy of course, the commotion of hat throwing and screaming, and running about clouds it sufficiently.

 

Phillip can’t believe he’s technically graduated when he steps down from the stage. He’d put in his two weeks notice a couple weeks ago, and wouldn’t be working at the florist any longer. He’s gathered up quite a lot of savings from it.

 

Life seems to be starting before he’s gotten the chance to catch up with it.

 

His mother is already at his side, and ruffles his hair up.

 

“You’re done, kiddo. How’s it feel?” She asks.

 

“Not quite yet. We still have college,” Phillip reminds. A screeching blonde woman pushes past him and jumps on Brandon.

 

Henry.

 

“Oh, my baby, you’re growing up too fast.” She kisses Brandon’s cheeks, and swipes his diploma from his hands. “I’m going to frame this.”

 

“Ma, please.” Brandon is rubbing the back of his neck bashfully.

 

“Henry and I just discovered we knew each other in college," Eva states out of blue.

 

It's the first time Phillip's ever seen Brandon go completely pale.

 

"Yes! We were in the same sorority for a semester. We were quite the party girls." Henry hugs Brandon close to her; Brandon, however, seems to have checked out of his current reality. His eyes are laughably blank.

 

Phillip doesn't care as much, but now the fact their families have a connection neither of them had known about, rubs him a little wrong.

 

"Say goodbye to your friends, I'll go wait in the car," Eva says and pats Phillip on the shoulder before departing into the crowds.

 

She underestimates just how many friends she thinks Phillip may have.

 

Henry follows suit.

 

Brandon tosses an arm around Phillip's shoulder and they laugh together.

 

"We'll have to start window shopping in college," Brandon states.

 

"For what?"

 

"Apartments. Furniture. Whatever we like."

 

Phillip's eyelashes flutter.

 

"I know, I know. I'm always thinking too far ahead. We'll talk about it when the time comes. Okay?"

 

As big of an interruption as there ever was, there is a sudden chaotic energy bustling up to them. David Kentley had run over from god knows which direction, his face sweating profusely and his graduation hat missing.

 

"Finally, found you two." He pants.

 

Phillip stiffens, but Brandon is open and ready for anything David might say.

 

"How are you, David? Get into Harvard?"

 

"Oh, actually I'm taking a gap year." David scratches at the uneven blonde stubble gathering around his lips. "Really, I wanted to apologize, you see."

 

"Oh?" Brandon crows innocently. He turns to Phillip who rolls his eyes discreetly.

 

"Yes, I believe I really made these school years quite difficult for you two at times. Neither of you deserved the harassment. And I truly wish you well at Columbia." David seems genuine, but this late in the game, it doesn't dent their impressions of his character.

 

When neither of them reply straight away, David adds, "I think I got my fair share of karma during the year to make up for everything."

 

"Yes, karma," Brandon says, as if they themselves hadn't meticulously planned the chicken blood fiasco and the Janet operation. "It's quite alright, David. Phillip and I are mature men, we wouldn't hold a grudge."

 

"Wonderful," David replies. "I've got to run, Kenneth's mother is expecting me for dinner. Hopefully, I'll see you again soon."

 

When he's vanished into the walls of people still swarming around the auditorium, Phillip snorts and says, "Hopefully, never."

 

"Oh, don't wish away another chance for some fun, Phillip. There's always potential in faking a friendship."

 

Phillip stares up at Brandon whose eyes are glistening something mad. "You worry me," he admits, and Brandon doesn't say a word.

 

* * *

 

Brandon is bidding some classmates farewell, and Phillip is waiting at the front doors of the lobby for him, Rupert catching his eye as he walks in from the auditorium.

 

His hands are in his pockets, a look uncharacteristic for him. Restless would be a good word for his appearance. Phillip revels in it. Normally he'd tap Brandon on the shoulder to share with him the damage they'd caused, but he's not sure Brandon would appreciate Rupert's demise in the same way as him. So for a minute, Phillip's eyes are the sole onlooker of Rupert's mental deterioration.

 

As a professor, Rupert probably would have been tearing up at the fact his senior students are departing for good. Never to be seen by him in his own educational bubble ever again. His missing case has caused him much more distress, it seems.

 

When Rupert starts his way, Phillip does his best to meld a look of indifference with an expression of challenge.

 

He regrets the choice for the few nerve wracking seconds it takes Rupert to make his way over to him. Brandon’s rejoined Phillip at his side.

 

"Brandon," he says in his usual drawl. He looks right past, Phillip.

 

"R-Rupert!" Brandon exclaims. It's hard to believe he’d wanted to steal anything from the man. "Come to bid us farewell?"

 

"I've come to celebrate new beginnings." Rupert takes out to slips of paper with his number written down.

 

"This is my home phone, whenever you want to chat about something I'll be free off school hours."

 

Phillip feels sick, holds the paper like he's a five year old holding its first vegetable.

 

Rupert continues. "I'll hear more of you two now, won't I?"

 

"You can count on it, Rupert," Brandon stammers.

 

Phillip despises Brandon most when Brandon is kind to Rupert, and deep down he knows that's not fair. To either of them.

 

Rupert smiles down at them, a crooked smile that’s always come across as condescending with how he towers so crudely over anyone he passes by. Slowly, he strolls away without a another word, to speak with a different boy and his parents.

 

* * *

 

Summer 1941

 

Brandon and Phillip don't see each other for a week after graduation, and when Phillip's mother is out of town on work, he finally invites him over.

 

Privacy is where they thrive best together. Not just with sex, but Brandon's biggest love other than cigarettes and Phillip is to brainstorm without any passing eyes or ears.

 

"I thought you'd grow out of this," Phillip says one night, draped over Brandon's chest, playing with a strand of his own hair that dangles in front of his eyes. He really needs a trim.

 

"Grown out of what? You can't grow out of superiority. I'm just saying, if we started setting fires in places other than school tool sheds, we'd be taken more seriously."

 

"You know that's not what I mean. Petty arson just seems a little elementary at this point don't you think?"

 

Brandon's chest rises up and down with his laughter. "We only graduated last week. What do you want, a bank robbery?"

 

"No, that's foolish," Phillip says. "I'll do what you want, Brandon. I'm just telling you what I think."

 

"Thank you for your opinion, your highness. Your suggestions will be logged and recorded."

 

"Why do you have to be an asshole?"

 

"Don't give me those doe eyes, Phillip, you know I hate that." Brandon shoves a hand over Phillip's eyes, but Phillip bites the side of his palm and he tugs it away.

 

"Screw you."

 

Phillip settles on the pillow, dragging himself off of Brandon and beside him instead. All is silent for a while, until Brandon breaks it.

 

"Phillip, what do you think the ultimate test of superiority is?"

 

"Well, what does Rupert always say?" Phillip asks.

 

Phillip opens one eye to see Brandon an inch away, staring wildly at him.

 

"Murder is a crime for most, and a privilege for the few," he says.

 

Phillip nods. "Then, there's your answer."

 

Closing his eyes again, he thinks that's the end of it, but Brandon pokes at his hip several times so he opens his eyes once more.

 

"It would be easy wouldn't it? One little murder, nothing like a bank robbery. Less room for mistake. Simple if you had it all planned out." Brandon licks his lips. His eyes seem lost in another place. Phillip is exhausted to truly wrap his head around the gravity of this conversation. Yet something tugs uncomfortably in his gut.

 

"Yes, I suppose," he responds, tired.

 

"We could do it."

 

"We could," Phillip says, because it doesn't mean they will. "Goodnight, Brandon."

 

"Goodnight, Phillip."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i need to work on some serious writing work this summer so i'm not sure when the next chapter will be out, this one took me 900 years. i work best under pressure, which i haven't had a lot of recently. thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> i'm extremely excited to finally be publishing the first part to this. this is going to be long as shit, and i don't know when the next part will be out, but writing this is really healing for me. this whole thing is dedicated to gus who had to listen to me rant about writing this a while back, and who will probably hear more rants in the future.


End file.
